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Westward Hoe. As it hath beenc diucrs times Acted by the Chii' 
dren of Paules. Written by Tho : Decker, and John Webster, 
Printed at London, and to be sold by John Hodgets dwelling in 
Paules Churchyard. 1607. 4to.* 

The title of Westward Ho, that of the play which comes next in 
this volume, Northward Ho, as well as that of the comedy by 
Chapman, Jonson, and Marston, Eastward Ho, appear to have been 
derived from the exclamations of the watermen who plied on the 
Thames : 

" \^Make a noise. Westward Ho! 
Queen Elinor. Woman, what noise is this 1 hear ? 
Potter's Wfe. An like your grace, it is the watermen that call 
for passengers to go westward now.'' 

Peele's Edward \st. — Works, \o\. i. p. 182. sec. ed. 
Compare ; 

" There lies your way, due west. 
- - - - Then westward-hoe." 

Shakespeare's Twelfth Night, act iii. sc. i. 
" A stranger ? the better welcome : comes hee Eastward, West- 
ward, or Northward hoe ?" Day's Isle of Gulls, 1606, Sig. A 2. 
" Yea ? and will you to the southward y faith ? will you to the 
confines of Italy, my gallants ? Take heed how yee goe North- 
wards,- 'tis a dangerous coast, jest not with 't in winter ; there- 
fore goe Southwards, my gallants, Southwards hoe !'' 

Sharpham's Fleire, 1615, Sig. D 4. 
Eastward Ho was printed in 1605: the Prologue to it shews 
that Westward Ho was then on the stage ; 
" Not out of envy, for there 's no effect 
Where there 's no cause, nor out of imitation. 
For we have evermore been imitated ; 
Nor out of our contention to do better, 
Than that which is oppos'd to ours in title ; 
For that was good, and better cannot be. 
And for the title, if it seem affected. 
We might as well have called it, God you good even 
Only that eastward, westwards still exceeds ; 
Honour the sun's fair rising, not his setting. 
Nor" &c. 

* A copy of this play has just fallen into my hands, differing slightly 
in some passages from all the other copies I have seen : I shall mark 
the various readings in the notes, 









Sir Gosling Glowworm. 











Boy, Servants, Fiddlers. 

Mistress Justiniano. 


Mistress Honeysuckle *. 
Mistress Tenterhook*. 
Mistress Wafer*. 
Mistress Birdlime. 

* Mistress Honei/suckleA In the old copy (which has no list of 
Mistress Tenterhook, /dramatis personse) the christian names 
Mistress Wafer. J of these ladies are generally prefixed 

to their respective speeches, — Judith to Mistress Honeysuckle's ; 
Mo/l, or Clare, to Mistress Tenterhook's ; and Mabel to Mis- 
tress Wafer's. When our poets make Mistress Tenterhook be 
addressed "sweet Clare" in the latter part of the play, they must 
have forgotten that she had been termed "little Moll" in an 
earlier scene. The name of Mistress Justiniano is Moll. 



Enter Mistress Birdlime, and Tailor. 

Bird. Stay, Tailor, this is the house : pray thee, 
look the gown be not ruffled ; as for the jewels and 
precious stones, I know where to find them ready 
presently. She that must wear this gown, if she 
will receive it, is Master Justiniano's wife, the Ita- 
lian merchant: my good old lord and master, that 
hath been a tilter this twenty year, hath sent it. 
Mum, Tailor ; you are a kind of bawd. Tailor, if 
this gentlewoman's husband should chance to be in 
the way now, you shall tell him that I keep a hot- 
house in Gunpowder-alley, near Crutched Friars, 
and that I have brought home his wife's foul linen ; 
and to colour my knavery the better, I have here 
three or four kinds of complexion, Avhich I will make 
show of to sell unto her; the young gentlewoman 
hath a good city wit, I can tell you ; she hath read 
in the ItaHan Courtier * that it is a special ornament 
to gentlewomen to have skill in painting. 

Tailor. Is my lord acquainted with her ? 

Bird. O, ay. 

* the Italian Courtier.'\ Thomas Hoby's translation of Casti- 
glione's famous Courtier appeared in 4to. in 1561. 


Tailor. Faith, Mistress Birdlime, I do not com- 
mend my lord's choice so well : now me thinks he 
were better to set up a dairy, and to keep half a 
score of lusty, wholesome, honest, country wenches. 

Bird. Honest country wenches ! in what hundred 
shall a man find two of that simple virtue ? 

Tailor. Or to love some lady ; there were equa- 
lity and coherence. 

Bird. Tailor, you talk like an ass ; I tell thee 
there is equality enough between a lady and a city 
dame, if their hair be but of a colour. Name you 
any one thing that your citizen's wife comes short 
of to your lady : they have as pure linen, as choice 
painting, love green geese in spring, mallard and 
teal in the fall, and woodcock in winter. Your 
citizen's wife learns nothing but fopperies of your 
lady, but your lady or justice-a-peace madam carries 
high wit from the city, namely, to receive all and 
pay all ; to awe their husbands, to check their 
husbands, to controul their husbands ; nay, they 
have the trick on't to be sick for a new gown, or a 
carcanet, or a diamond, or so ; and I wis* this is 
better wit than to learn how to wear a Scotch far- 
thingale ; nay, more 

Enter Prentice. 

Here comes one of the servants : you remember. 
Tailor, that I am deaf; observe that. 

Tailor. Ay, thou art in that like one of our 

• im.] Some copies, '* wist.'" 


young gulls, that will not understand any wrong 
is done him, because he dares not answer it. 

Bird. By your leave, bachelor, is the gentle- 
woman, your mistress, stirring? 

Prent. Yes, she is moving. 

Bird. What says he ? 

Tailor. She is up. 

Bird. Where 's the gentleman, your master, 
pray you ? 

Pren. Where many women desire to have their 
husbands, abroad. 

Bird. I am very thick of hearing. 

Pren. Why, abroad : you smell of the bawd. 

Bird. I pray you tell her here 's an old gentle- 
woman would speak with her. 

Pren. So. [^Exit. 

Tailor. What, will you be deaf to the gentle- 
woman when she comes, too ? 

Bird. O, no, she 's acquainted well enough with 
my knavery. 

Enter Mistress Jdstiniano. 

She comes. How do you, sweet lady ? 

Mist. Just. Lady ! 

Bird. By God 's me, I hope to call you lady ere 
you die : what, mistress, do you sleep well on nights ? 

Mist. Just. Sleep ! ay, as quietly as a client 
having great business with lawyers. 

Bird. Come, I am come to you about the old 
suit : my good lord and master hath sent you a 


velvet gown here ; do you like the colour ? three 
pile, a pretty fantastical trimming ! I would God you 
would say it, by my troth. I dreamed last night 
you looked so prettily, so sweetly, methought so 
like the wisest lady of them all, in a velvet gown. 

Mist. Just. What 's the forepart ? 

Bird. A very pretty stufif ; I know not the name 
of your forepart, but 'tis of a hair colour. 

Mist. Just. That it was my hard fortune, being 
so well brought up, having so great a portion to my 
marriage, to match so unluckily ! Why, my husband 
and his whole credit is not worth my apparel : well, 
I shall undergo a strange report in leaving my 

Bird. Tush, if you respect your credit, never 
think of that, for beauty covets rich apparel, choice 
diet, excellent physic. No German clock * nor ma- 
thematical engine whatsoever, requires so much re- 
paration as a woman's face ; and what means hath 
your husband to allow sweet Doctor Glister-pipe his 
pension ? I have heard that you have threescore 
smocks, that cost three pounds a smock ; will these 
smocks ever hold out with your husband ? no, your 
linen and your apparel must turn over a new leaf, 
I can tell you. 

* no German clock, &c.] Some copies, " nor.'^ See the notes 
of the commentators on — 

" A woman that is like a German clock, 
Still a repairing." 
Shakespeare's Love's Labuur^s Lost, act iii. so. 1. 


Tailok. O admirable bawd ! O excellent Bird- 
lime I 

Bird. I have heard he loved you, before you were 
married, entirely ; what of that ? I have ever found 
it most true in mine own experience, that they which 
are most violent dotards before their marriage are 
most voluntary cuckolds after. Many are honest, 
either because they have not means*, or because they 
have not opportunity to be dishonest ; and this 
Italian, your husband's countryman, holds it im- 
possible any of their ladies should be excellent witty, 
and not make the uttermost use of their beauty : will 
you be a fool then ? 

Mist. Just. Thou doest persuade me to ill, very 

Bird. You are nice and peevish ; how long will 
you hold out, think you ? not so long as Ostend t. 

Enter Justiniano, the Merchant. 

Passion of me, your husband ! Remember that I am 
deaf, and that I come to sell you complexion : truly, 
mistress, I will deal very reasonably with you. 
Just. What are you, say ye ? 

* meam^ Some copies, " wist." — 1 suppose, from what fol- 
lows, a misprint for " wit." 

f not so long as Ostend^ After a siege of three years and 
ten weeks, this place surrendered to the Marquis of Spinola, on 
the twelfth of September, 1604. In the same year appeared at 
London A True Historie of the Memorable Siege of Ostend, and 
what passed on either side from the beginning of the Siege unto 
the yeelding up of the Townc, &c. Translated out of French 
into English. By Edward Grimeston. 


Bird. Ay, forsooth. 

Just. What, my most happy wife ? 

Mist. Just. Why your jealousy ? 

Just. Jealousy ! in faith I do not fear to lose 
That I have lost already. What are you ? 

Bird. Please your good worship, I am a poor 
gentlewoman, that cast away myself upon an un- 
thrifty captain, that lives now in Ireland ; I am fain 
to pick out a poor living with selling complexion, to 
keep the frailty, as they say, honest. 

Just. What 's he ? complexion too ! you are a 

Bird. I thank your good worship for it. 

Just. Do not I know these tricks ? 
That which thou mak'st a colour for thy sin, 
Hath been thy first undoing, — painting, painting. 

Bird. I have of all sorts, forsooth: liere is the 
burned powder of a hog's jaw bone, to be laid with 
the oil of white poppy, an excellent fucus to kill 
morphew, weed out freckles, and a most excellent 
groundwork for painting ; here is ginimony like- 
wise burned and pulverized, to be mingled with the 
juice of lemons, sublimate mercury, and two spoon- 
fuls of the flowers of brimstone, a most excellent 
receipt to cure the flushing in the face. 

Just. Do you hear, if you have any business to 
despatch with that deaf goodness there, pray you 
take leave, opportunity, that which most of you long 
for (though you never be with child), opportunity. 
I 'U find some idle business in the mean time ; I 
will, I will in truth, you shall not need fear me ; or 


you may speak French, most of your kinds can un - 
derstand French : God b' ^vi' you. 

Being certain thou art false, sleep, sleep, my 

For doubt was only that which fed my pain. 


Mist. Just. You see what a hell I live in : I am 
resolved to leave him. 

Bird. O the most fortunate gentlewoman ! that 
wU be so wise, and so, so provident : the caroch 
shall come. 

Mist. Just. At what hour ? 

Bird. Just when women and vintners are a con- 
juring, at midnight. O, the entertainment my lord 
will make you, sweet wines, lusty diet, perfumed 
linen, soft beds ! O most fortunate gentlewoman ! 
[^Exeunt Birdlime and Tailor. 

Enter Justiniano. 

Just. Have you done ? have you despatched ? 
'tis well ; and in troth what was the motion ? 

Mist. Just. Motion ! what motion ? 

Just. Motion I why like the motion in law, that 
stays for a day of hearing, your's for a night of 
hearing. Come, let 's not have April in your eyes, I 
pray you ; it shows a wanton month follows your 
weeping. Love a woman for her tears ! Let a 
man love oysters for their water; for women, though 
they should weep liquor enough to serve a dyer or 
a brewer, yet they may be as stale as wenches that 


travel every second tide between Gravesend and 

Mist. Just. This madness shows very well. 

Just. Why, look you, I am wondrous merry ; 
can any man discern by my face, that I am a 
cuckold ? I have known many suspected for men 
of this misfortune, when they have walked thorough 
the streets, wear their hats o'er their eyebrows, like 
politic penthouses, which commonly make the shop 
of a mercer or a linen-draper as dark as a room in 
Bedlam ; his cloak shrouding his face, as if he were 
a Neopolitan that had lost his beard in April ; and 
if he walk through the street, or any other narrow 
road (as 'tis rare to meet a cuckold) he ducks at the 
penthouses, like an ancient that dares not flourish 
at the oath-taking of the pretor, for fear of the 
sign-posts. Wife, wife, do I any of these ? come, 
what news from his lordship ? has not his lordship's 
virtue once gone against the hair, and coveted 
corners ? 

Mist. Just. Sir, by my soul I will be plain witli 

Just. Except the forehead, dear wife, except the 

Mist. Just. The gentleman you spake of hatli 
often solicited my love, and hath received from me 
most chaste denials. 

Just. Ay, ay, provoking resistance ; 'tis as if you 
came to buy wares in the city, bid money for 't, 
your mercer, or goldsmith says, truly I cannot take 


it, lets his customer pass his stall, next, nay, per- 
liaps, two or three, but if he find he is not prone to 
return of himself, he calls him back, and back, and 
takes his money : so you, my dear wife, — O the 
policy of women and tradesmen ! they '11 bite at 

Mist. Just. What would you have me do? all 
your plate, and most part of your jewels, are at pawn ; 
besides, I hear you have made over all your estate 
to men in the town here. What would you have 
me do ? would you have me turn common sinner, or 
sell my apparel to my waistcoat, and become a 
laundress ? 

Just. No laundress, dear wife, though your 
credit would go far with gentlemen for taking up of 
linen ; no laundress. 

Mist. Just. Come, come, I will speak as my mis- 
fortune prompts me. Jealousy hath undone many 
a citizen ; it hath undone you and me. You mar- 
ried me from the service of an honourable lady, and 
you knew what matches I mought have had. What 
would you have me to do ? I would I had never 
seen your eyes, your eyes ! 

Just. Very good, very good. 

Mist. Just. Your prodigality, your diceing, your 
riding abroad, your consorting yourself with noble- 
men, your building a summer-house, hath undone 
us, hath undone us ! What would you have me 

Just. Any thing. I have sold my house, and the 


wares in 't ; I am going for Stoad next tide : what 
will you do now, wife ? 

Mist. Just, Have you indeed ? 

Just. Ay, by this light all 's one ; I have done as 
some citizens at thirty, and most heirs at three-and- 
twenty, made all away : why do you not ask me now 
what you shall do ? 

Mist. Just, I have no counsel in your voyage, 
neither shall you have any in mine. 

Just, To his lordship ; will you not, wife ? 

Mist. Just. Even whither my misfortune leads 

Just, Go ; no longer will I make my care thy 

Mist. Just. O my fate ! Well, sir, you shall an- 
swer for this sin, which you force me to. Fare you 
well ; let not the world condemn me, if I seek for 
mine own maintenance. 

Just. So, so. 

Mist, Just, Do not send me any letters ; do not 
seek any reconcilement ; by this light I '11 receive 
none: if you will send me my apparel, so, if not, 
choose. I hope we shall ne'er meet more. [_Exit. 

Just. So, farewell the acquaintance of all the 
mad devils that haunt jealousy ! Why should a man 
be such an ass to play the antic for his wife's appe- 
tite ? Imagine that I, or any other great man, have 
on a velvet night-cap, and put case that this night- 
cap be too little for my ears or forehead, can any 
man tell me where my night-cap wrings me, except 


I Ite such an ass to proclaim it ? Well, I do play 
the fool with my misfortune very handsomely. I 
am glad that I am certain of my \\afe's dishonesty ; 
for a secret strumpet is Uke mines prepared to ruin 
goodly buildings. Farewell my care. I have told 
my wife I am going for Stoad ; that *s not my 
course, for I resolve to take some shape upon me, 
and to live disguised here in the city. They say for 
one cuckold to know that his friend is in the like 
head-ache, and to give him counsel, is as if there 
were two partners, the one to be arrested, the other 
to bail him. My estate is made over to my friends, 
that do verily believe, I mean to leave England. 
Have amongst you, city dames, you that are indeed 
the fittest, and most proper persons for a comedy ! 
nor let the world lay any imputation upon my dis- 
guise, for court, city, and country, are merely as 
masks one to the other, envied of some, laughed at 
of others: and so to my comical business. 



Enter Tenterhook, Mistress Tenterhook, Mo- 
nopoly, a Scrivener, aiid a Cashier. 

Ten. Moll. 

Mist. Ten. What would, heart ? 
Ten. Where 's my cashier ? are tlie sums right ? 
are the bonds sealed ? 

vol. III. c 


Cash, Yea, sir. 

Ten. Will you have the bags sealed ? 

MoN. O no, sir, I must disburse instantly ; we 
that be courtiers have more places to send money 
to, than the devil hath to send his spirits : there 's a 
great deal of light gold. 

Ten. O, sir, 'tv^ill away in play : and you will 
stay till to-morrow you shall have it all in new 

MoN. No, in troth, 'tis no matter, 't\A-ill away in 
play. Let me see the bond, let me see when this 
money is to be paid ; the tenth of August ; the first 
day that I must tender this money, is the first of 

ScRiv. I fear 'twill be hot staying for you in Lon- 
don then. 

Ten, Scrivener, take home the bond with you. 

[^Exit Scrivener. 
Will you stay to dinner, sir ? Have you any par- 
tridge, Moll ? 

Mist. Ten. No, in troth, heart ; but an excellent 
pickled goose, a new service. Pray you, stay. 

MoN, Sooth, I cannot. By this light I am so in- 
finitely, so unboundably beholding to you ! 

Ten. Well, signior, I '11 leave you. My cloak, 

Mist. Ten. When will you come home, heart ? 

Ten. In troth, self, I know not ; a friend of 
your's and mine hath broke. 

Mist. Ten. Who, sir ? 


Ten. Master Justiniano, the Italian. 

Mist. Tjsn. Broke, sir ! 

Ten. Yea, sooth ; I was offered forty yesterday 
upon the Exchange, to assure a hundred. 

Mist. Ten. By my troth, I am sorry. 

Ten. And his wife is gone to the party. 

Mist. Ten. Gone to the party ! O wicked crea- 
ture I 

Ten. Farewell, good Master Monopoly ; I pri- 
thee visit me often. \_Exit. 

MoN. Little Moll, send away the fellow ? 

Mist. Ten. Philip, Philip. 

Cash. Here, forsooth. 

Mist. Ten. Go into Bucklersbury*, and fetch me 
two ounces of preserved melons ; look there be no 
tobacco taken in the shop when he weighs it. 

Cash. Ay, forsooth. [^Exit 

Mon. What do you eat preserved melons for, 

Mist. Ten. In troth, for the shaking of the heart ; 
I have here sometimes such a shaking, and down- 
wards such a kind of earthquake, as it were. 

Mon. Do you hear, let your man carry home my 
money to the ordinary, and lay it in my chamber, 
but let him not tell my host that it is money ; I owe 
him but forty pound, and the rogue is hasty; he will 
follow me when he thinks I have money, and pry 

* Bucklersbury'l in our author's time, was chiefly occupied 
by druggists. 

c 2 


into me as crows perch upon carrion, and when he 
hath found it out, prey upon me as heralds do upon 

Mist. Ten. Come, come, you owe much money 
in town : when you have forfeited your bond, I shall 
ne'er see you more. 

MoN. You are a monkey ; I'll pay him 'fore 's 
day ; I '11 see you to morrow, too. 

Mist. Ten. By my troth, I love you very honestly ; 
you were never the gentleman offered any uncivi- 
lity to me, which is strange, methinks, in one that 
comes from beyond seas : would I had given a 
thousand pound, I could not love thee so ! 

MoN. Do you hear ? You shall feign some scurvy 
disease or other, and go to the bath next spring ; 
I '11 meet you there. 

£n/erMisTREss Honeyslckle and Mistress Wafer. 

Mist. Honey. By your leave, sweet Mistress Ten- 

Mist. Ten. Oh, how dost, partner? 

Mon. Gentlewomen, I stayed for a most happy 
wind, and now the breath from your sweet, sweet 
lips should set me going. Good Mistress Honey- 
suckle, good Mistress Wafer, good Mistress Ten- 
terhook, I will pray for you, that neither rivalship 
in loves, pureness of painting, or riding out of town, 
nor acquainting each other with it, be a cause j^our 
sweet beauties do fallout, and rail one upon another. 

Mist. Wafer. Rail, sir ! we do not use to rail. 


MoN. Why, Mistress, railing is your mother 
tongue, as well as lying. 

Mist. Honey. But, do you think we can fall out ? 

MoN. In troth, beauties, as one spake seriously, 
that tliere was no inheritance in the amitv of princes, 
so think I of women ; too often interviews amongst 
women, as amongst princes, breed* envy oft to 
other's fortune : there is onlv in the amity of women 
an estate for will, and every puny knows that is no 
certain inheritance. 

Mist. Wafer. You are merry, sir. 

MoN. So may I leave you, most fortunate gentle- 
woman. \_Exit. 

Mist. Ten. Love shoots here. 

Mist. Wafer. Tenterhook, what gentleman is 
that gone out ; is he a man ? 

Mist. Honey. O God, and an excellent trumpeter. 
He came lately from the university, and loves city 
dames only for their victuals. He hath an excellent 
trick to keep lobsters and crabs sweet in summer, 
and calls it a device to prolong the days of shell-fish, 
for which I do suspect he hath been clerk to some 
nobleman's kitchen. I have heard he never loves any 
wench till she be as stale as Frenchmen eat their 
wild-fowl. I shall anger her. 

Mist. Ten. How stale, good Mistress Nimble- 
wit ? 

Mist. Honey. Why, as stale as a country hostess, 
an Exchange sempster, or a court laundress. 

* breed.l^ The old copy, '' breeds." 


Mist. Ten. He is your cousin ; how your tongue 
runs ! 

Mist. Honey. Talk and make a noise, no matter to 
what purpose ; I have learned that with going to 
puritan lectures. I was yesterday at a banquet : 
will you discharge my ruffs of some wafers ? and 
how doth thy husband, Wafer ? 

Mist. Wafer. Faith, very well. 

Mist. Honey. He is just like a torchbearer to 
maskers ; he wears good clothes, and is ranked in 
good company, but he doth nothing : thou art fain 
to take all and pay all. 

Mist. Ten. The more happy she : would I could 
make such an ass of my husband too! I hear say 
he breeds thy child in his teeth, every year. 

Mist. Wafer. In faith, he doth. 

Mist. Honey. By my troth, 'tis pity but the fool 
should have the other two pains incident to the 

Mist. Wafer. What are they ? 

Mist. Honey. Why the head-ache and horn-ache. 
I heard say that he would have had thee nurst thy 
child thyself, too. 

Mist. Wafer. That he would, truly. 

Mist. Honey. Why, there 's the policy of hus- 
bands to keep their wives in. I do assure you, if a 
woman of any markable face in the world give her 
child suck, look how man; wrinkles be in the nipple 
of her breast, so many will be in her forehead, by 


that time twelvemonth. But, sirrah*, we are come 
to acquaint thee with an excellent secret ; we two 
learn to write. 

Mist. Ten. To write ! 

Mist. Honey. Yes, believe it, and we have the 
finest schoolmaster, a kind of Precisian, and yet an 
honest knave too. By my troth, if thou beest a 
good wench, let him teach thee : thou mayest send 
him of any errand, and trust him with any secret ; 
nay, to see how demurely he will bear himself be- 
fore our husbands, and how jocund when their 
backs are turned ! 

Mist. Ten. For God's love, let me see him. 

Mist. Wafer. To-morrow we '11 send him to thee ; 
till then, sweet Tenterhook, we leave thee, wishing 
thou mayest have the fortune to change thy name 

Mist. Ten. How ! change my name ? 

* sirrah.J 

" Julia. Why, He tell thee, sirrah. 
Duriyene. No, sirrah, you shannot tell me." 

The Two Merry Milke-Maids, 1620, sig. B 4. 

And in The Wit of a Woman, 1604, Erinta says to Gianetta, 
" but harke, sirra, tell nie one thing, if it fall out," &c. sig. B. 

A female was sometimes addressed ''sirrah,'" long after W^est- 
ward Ho and the plays just quoted were produced : in Etherege's 
Man of Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, 1676, old Bellair says to 
Harriet, " Adod, Sirrah, I like thy wit well." Act ii. sc. 1 . 

In the north of Scotland I have frequently heard persons in the 
lower ranks of life use the word "Sirs," when speaking to two or 
three women. 


Mist. Wafer. Ay, for thieves and widows love 
to shift many names, and make sweet use of it too. 

Mist. Ten. O, you are a wag, indeed ! Good 
Wafer, remember my schoolmaster. Farewell, good 

Mist. Honey. Farewell, Tenterhook. \_Exeunt. 


Enter Boi^iFACE, an apprentice, brushing his master's 
cloak and cap {singing) ; enter Honeysuckle in 
his night-cap, trussing himself^. 

Honey. Boniface, make an end of my cloak and 

Bon. I have despatched 'em, sir ; both of them lie 
flat at your mercy. 

Honey. 'Fore God, methinks my joints are 
nimbler every morning since I came over than they 
were before. In France, when I rise, I was so 
stiff, and so stark, I would ha' sworn my legs had 
been wooden pegs ; a constable new-chosen kept 
not such a peripatetical gait ; but now I 'm as 
limber as an ancient that has flourished in the rain, 
and as active as a Norfolk tumbler. 

* trussing himself.'] i.e. tying the tagged laces which fastened 
the breeches to the doublet. 


Bon. You may see what change of pasture is 
able to do. 

HoNEy. It makes fat calves in Rumney Mai'sh, and 
lean knaves in London : therefore, Boniface, keep 
your ground. God s my pity, my forehead has 
more crumples than the back part of a counsellor's 
gown, when another rides upon his neck at the bar. 
Boniface, take my helmet : give your mistress my 
night-cap. Are my antlers swoln so big, that my 
biggen pinches my brows ? So, request her to make 
my head-piece a little Ander. 

Box. How much wider, sir ? 

Honey. I can allow her ^Imost an inch : go, tell 
her so, very near an inch. 

Bon. If she be a right citizen's Avife, now her 
husband has given her an inch, she '11 take an ell, 
or a yard at least. \_Exit. 

Enter Justiniano, the merchant,, like a writing 
mechanical pedant. 

Honey. Master Parenthesis ! salve, salve, domine. 

Just. Salve tu quoque ; juheo te solvere plurimum. 

Honey. No more plurimums, if you love me : 
Latin whole-meats are now minced, and served in for 
English gallima\A'fries ; let us, therefore, cut out our 
uplandish neats' tongues, and talk like regenerate 

Just. Your worship is welcome to England : I 
poured out orisons for your arrival. 

Honey. Thanks, good Master Parenthesis : and 


que nouvelles? what news flutters abroad ? do jack- 
daws dung the top of Paul's steeple still ? 

Just, The more is the pity, if any daws do come 
into the temple, as I fear they do. 

Honey. They say Charing-cross is fallen down 
since I went to Rochelle : but that 's no such won- 
der ; 'twas old, and stood awry, as most part of the 
world can tell. And though it lack under-propping, 
yet, like great fellows at a wrestling, when their 
heels are once flying up, no man will save 'em ; down 
they fall, and there let them lie, though they were 
bigger than the guard : Charing-cross was old, 
and old things must shrink, as well as new northern 

Just. Your worship is in the right way, verily; 
they must so; but a number of better things between 
Westminster-bridge and Temple-bar, both of a wor- 
shipful and honourable erection, are fallen to decay, 
and have suff"ered putrefaction, since Charing fell, 
that were not of half so long standing as the poor 
wry-necked monument. 

Honey. Who 's within tliere ? One of you call 
up your mistress ! tell her here 's her writing school- 
master. I had not thought, Master Parenthesis, 
you had been such an early stirrer. 

Just. Sir, your vulgar and fourpenny-penmen, 
that, like your London sempsters, keep open shop, 
and sell learning by retail, may keep their beds and 
lie at their pleasure ; but we that edify in private 
and traffic by wholesale must be up with the lark. 


because, like country attoniies, we are to shuffle 
up many matters in a forenoon. Certes, Master 
Honeysuckle, I would sing Laus Deo, so I may but 
please all those that come under my fingers ; for it 
is my duty and function, perdy, to be fervent in my 

Honey. Your hand : I am glad our city has so 
good, so necessary, and so laborious a member in it ; 
we lack painful and expert penmen amongst us. 
Master Parenthesis, you teach many of our merchants, 
sir, do you not 1 

Just. Both wives, maids, and daughters ; and I 
thank God the very worst of them lie by very good 
men's sides : I pick out a poor living amongst 'em, 
and I am thankful for it. 

Honey. Trust me I am not sorry : how long have 
you exercised this quality ? 

Just. Come Michael-tide next, this thirteen 

Honey. And how does my wife profit under you, 
sir ? hope you to do any good upon her ? 

Just. Master Honeysuckle, I am in great hope 
she shall fructify : I will do my best, for my part ; 
I can do no more than another man can. 

Honey Pray, sir, ply her, for she is capable of 
any thing. 

Just. So far as my poor talent can stretch, it 
shall not be hidden from her. 

Honey. Does she hold her pen well yet ? 

Just. She leans somewhat too hard upon her pen 


yet, sir, but practice and animadversion will break 
her from that. 

Honey. Then she grubs her pen ? 

Just. It 's but my pains to mend the neb again. 

Honey. And Avhereabouts is she now, Master 
Parenthesis ? She was talking of you this morning, 
and commending you in her bed, and told me she 
was past her letters. 

Just. Truly, sir, she took her letters very sud- 
denly, and is now in her minims. 

Honey. I would she were in her crotchets too, 
Master Parenthesis : ha, ha ! I must talk merrily, 

Just. Sir, so long as your mirth be void of all 
squirrility *, 't is not unfit for your calling. I trust, 
ere few days be at an end, to have her fall to her 
joining, for she has her letters ad unguem ; her A, 
her great B, and her great C, very right ; D, and 
E, delicate; her double F of a good length, but that 
it straddles a little too wide ; at the G very cunning. 

Honey. Her H is full, like mine ; a goodly big H, 

Just. But her double L is well ; her O of a rea- 
sonable size ; at her P and Q, neither merchant's 
daughter, alderman's wife, young country gentle- 
woman, nor courtier's mistress, can match her. 

Honey. And how her U ? 

Just. U, sir ! she fetches up U best of all ; her 

* squirrility.'] A form of scurrility, sometimes found in old 


single U she can fashion two or tliree ways, but her 
double U is as I would wish it. 

Honey. And, faith, who takes it faster ; my wife 
or Mistress Tenterhook ? 

Just. O, your wife, by odds ; she '11 take more 
in one hour than I can fasten either upon Mistress 
Tenterhook, or Mistress Wafer, or Mistress Flap. 
dragon, the brewer's wife, in three. 

Enter Mistress Honeysuckle. 

Honey. Do not thy cheeks burn, sweet chuckabv, 
for we are talking of thee ? 

Mist. Honey. No goodness, I warrant ; you have 
few citizens speak well of their wives behind their 
backs : but to their faces they '11 cog worse and be 
more suppliant than clients that sue in for ma paper* . 
How does my master ? troth, I am a very truant : 
have you your ruler about you, master ? for look 
you, I go clean awry. 

Just. A small fault ; most of my scholars do so. 
Look you, sir, do not you think your wife will mend ? 
mark her dashes, and her strokes, and her breakings, 
and her bendings. 

Honey. She knows wliat I have promised her if 
she do mend. Nay, by my fay, Jude, this is well, 
if you would not fly out thus, but keep your line. 

* forma paper.~] Our early dramatists have a pleasure in 
making their characters miscall terms of law : so Rowley ; " I 
by my troth, he is now but a Knight under Forma Paprix." 
JV/icn you see mee you know mee, 1632. Sig. g 3. 


Mist. Honev. I shall in time, when my hand is 
in. Have you a new pen for me, master ? for, by my 
truly, my old one is stark naught, and ■will cast no 
ink. Whither are you going, lamb ? 

Honey. To the Custom-house, to the 'Change, to 
my warehouse, to divers places. 

Mist. Honey. Good Cole, tarry not past eleven, 
for you turn my stomach then from my dinner. 

Honey. I will make more haste home than a 
stipendiary Switzer does after he 's paid. Fare you 
well. Master Parenthesis. 

Mist. Honey. I am so troubled with the rheum 
too ! Mouse, what 's good for 't ? 

Honey. How often have I told you you must get 
a patch * ! I must hence. [^Exit. 

Mist. Honey. I think, when all 's t done, I must 
follow his counsel, and take a patch ; I'd J have had 
one long ere this, but for disfiguring my face : yet 
I had noted that a mastic patch upon some women's 
temples hath been the very rheum of beauty. 

* 1/oH must get a patch.'\ " Even as blacke patches are wome. 
some for pride, some to stay the Rhewme, and some to hide the 
scab," &c. Jacke Dricms Entertainment. 1616. Sig. I 2. 
" For when they did but happen for to see 
Those that with Rhume a little troubled be, 
JVeare on their faces a round maslick patch, 
Their fondness I perceiv'd sometime to catch 
That for a Fashion." 

Wither's Abuses Stript and Whipt. B. ii. Sat. I- 
p. 171. Ed. 1615. 
f all 's.] Some copies, " a//." + I'd.'] Tlie old copy " 1." 


Just. Is he departed ? is old Nestor marched into 

Mist. Honey. Yes, you mad Greek, the gentle- 
man 's gone. 

Just. Why then clap up copy-books, down with 
pens, hang up ink-horns ; and now, my sweet 
Honeysuckle, see what golden-winged bee from 
Hybla flies humming with crura thymo plena*, which 
he will empty in the hive of your bosom. 

Mist. Honey. From whom ? 

Just. At the skirt of that sheet, in black Avork, 
is wTought his name ; break not up the wildfowl t 
till anon, and then feed upon him in private : there 's 
other irons i' th' fire, more sacks are coming to the 
mill. O, you sweet temptations of the sons of 
Adam, I commend you, extol you, magnify you ! 
Were I a poet, by Hippocrene I swear (which was 
a certain well where all the Muses watered), and by 
Parnassus eke I swear, I would rhyme you to death 
with praises, for that you can be content to lie with 
old men all night for their money, and walk to your 
gardens with young men i' th' daytime for your 
pleasure. O you delicate damnations, you do but 
as I would do! Were I the properest, sweetest, 

* crura ihyino plena^ 

" At fessae multa referuiit se node mioores, 
Crura thijnio plence." 

Virgil. Geortj. iv. 181, 
f break not up the wildfowl.'\ To break up was an old term 
for carvinjj. 


plumpest, cherry-cheeked, coral-lipped woman in 
a kingdom, I would not dance after one man's pipe. 

Mist. Honey. And why ? 

Just. Especially after an old man's. 

Mist. Honey. And why, pray ? 

Just. Especially after an old citizen's. 

Mist. Honey. Still, and why ? 

Just. Marry, because the suburbs, and those 
without the bars, have more privilege than they 
within the freedom. What need one woman dote 
upon one man, or one man be mad, like Orlando, for 
one woman ? 

Mist. Honey. Troth, 't is true, considering liow 
much flesh is in every shambles. 

Just. Why should I long to eat of baker's bread 
only, when there 's so much sifting, and bolting, and 
grinding in every corner of the city ? Men and 
women are born, and come running into the world 
faster than coaches do into Cheapside upon Simon 
and Jude's day ; and are eaten up by death faster 
than mutton and porridge in a term time. Who 
would pin their hearts to any sleeve ? This world 
is like a mint : we are no sooner cast into the fire, 
taken out again, hammered, stamped, and made 
current, but presently we are changed ; the new 
money, like a new drab, is catched at by Dutch, 
Spanish, Welch, French, Scotch, and English; but 
the old cracked King Harry groats are shoveled up, 
feel bruizing and battering, clipping and melting, 
they smoke for 't. 


Mist. Honey. The world 's an arrant naughty 
pack I see, and is a very scurvy world. 

Just. Scurvy I worse than the conscience of a 
broom-man, that carries out new ware and brings 
hoine old shoes. A naughty pack ! why, there's no 
minute, no thought of time passes, but some villany 
or other is a brewing. Why, even now, — now, at 
holding up of this finger, and before the turning 
down of this, some are murdering, some Ij^ng with 
their maids, some picking of pockets, some cutting 
purses, some cheating, some weighing out bribes ; 
in this city some wives are cuckolding some hus- 
bands ; in yonder village, some farmers are now, 
now grinding the jawbones of the poor. Therefore* 
sweet scholar, sugared Mistress Honeysuckle, take 
summer before you, and lay hold of it ; why, even 
now, must you and I hatch an egg of iniquity. 

Mist. Honey. Troth, master, I think thou wilt 
prove a very knave. 

Just. It 's the fault of many that fight under this 

Mist. Honey. I shall love a puritan's face the 
worse whilst 1 live for that copy of thy counte- 

Just. We are all weathercocks, and must follow 
the ^vind of the present, from the bias. 

Mist. Honey. Change a bowl, then. 

Just. I will so ; and now for a good cast : there 's 
the knight, sir Gosling Glowworm. 

Mist. Honey. He 's a knight made out of wax. 



Just. He took up silks upon his bond, I confess ; 
nay more, he 's a knight in print ; but let his 
knighthood be of what stamp it will, from him 
come I, to entreat you, and Mistress Wafer, and 
Mistress Tenterhook, being both my scholars, and 
your honest pew-fellows, to meet him this afternoon 
at the Rhenish wine-house i' th' Stillyard*. Cap- 
tain Whirlpool will be there, young Linstock, the 
alderman's son and heir, there too. Will you steal 
forth, and taste of a Dutch bun, and a keg of stur- 

* the Rhenish wine-house i' th' Stilit/ard.} " Next to this 
lane on tlie East [Cosin Lane, Downgate Ward] is tlie Stele 
house, or Stele yarde (as they terme it) a place for Marchantes 
of Almaine," &c. Stow's Survey of London, 1598, p. 184. 

" Stilliard is a place in London, where the fraternitie of the 
Easterling Merchants, otherwise the Merchants of the Haunse and 
Almaine, are wont to have their abode. It is so called Stilliard, of 
a broad place or court wherein Steele was much sould, q. Steele- 
yard, upon which that house is now founded." 

Minshew's Guide into Tongues, 1617, 

The derivation of the name just given is questionable. 

" They [The Hans Towne Merchants] were permitted to sell 
Rhenish wine by retail." Malcolm's London, vol. i. p. 48. 

Compare with the passage in the text ; 

" Men when they are idle, and know not what to do, saith one 
let us go to the stillyard and drinke Rhenish wine, &c." 

Nash's Pierce Pennilesse, Sig. E, 2ed. 1595. 

" Who would let a Cit, (whose teeth are rotten out with sweet 
meates his mother brings him from goshippings) breathe upon her 
vernish for the promise of a dry neat's tongue and a pottle of 
Rhenish at the stillyard, when she may command a Blade to toss 
and tumble her ?" Nabbes's Bride, 16-10 Sig. E. 


Mist. Honey. What excuse shall I coin now ? 

Just. Phew ! excuses ! You must to the Pawn 
to buy lawn * ; to Saint Martin's for lace ; to the 
Garden ; to the Glass-house ; to your gossip's ; to 
the poulter'st ; else take out an old ruflf and go to 
your sempster's — excuses ! why they are more ripe 
than medlars at Christmas. 

Mist. Honey. I '11 come : the hour ? 

Just. Two : the way through Paul's ; every wench 
take a pillar, there clap on your masks ; your men 
will be behind you, and before your prayers be half 
done, be before you, and man you out at several 
doors. You '11 be there ? 

Mist. Honey. If I breathe. [^Exit. 

Just. Farewell. So : now must I go set the 
tother wenches the self-same copy : a rare school- 
master, for all kind of hands, I. O, Avhat strange 
curses are poured down with one blessing ! 
Do all tread on the heel ? Have all the art 
To hoodwink wise men thus ? and, like those 

* to the Pawn to buy lawn.'] So in the curious poetical dia- 
logue ^ Tis merry when gossips meet, 1609j the Wife says; 
" In truth (kind cousse) my commings from the Pawn, 
But I protpjt I lost my labour there : 
A Gentleman promist to give me lawne, 

And did not meet me, which he well shall heare." 

I believe it is not known wliat or where the Pawn was. 
•}• poidter's.] i.e. poulterer's. 



Of Babel's tower, to speak unknown tongues, 
Of all, save by their husbands, understood ? 
Well, if, as ivy 'bout the elm does twine, 
All wives love clipping, there 's no fault in mine. 
But if the world lay speechless, even the dead 
Would rise, and thus cry out from yawning graves, 
Women make men, or fools, or beasts, or slaves. 



Enter Earl and Mistress Birdlime. 

Earl. Her answer ! talk in music ! will she 
come ? 

Bird. O, my sides ache in my loins, in my bones ! 
I ha' more need of a posset of sack, and lie in my 
bed and sweat, than to talk in music. No honest 
woman would run hurrying up and down thus, and 
undo herself for a man of honour, without reason. I 
am so lame, every foot that I set to the ground went 
to my heart ; I thought I had been at mum-chance*, 
my bones rattled so with jaunting : had it not been 
for a friend in a corner, \_Takes aqua-vitce'] I had 
kicked up my heels. 

Earl. Minister comfort to me — will she come ? 

Bird. All the castles of comfort ..hat I can put 
you into is this, that the jealous wittol her husband, 

* mum-chance.] A game played either with dice or cards : 
Mistress Birdlime alludes to the former method. 



came, like a mad ox, bellowing in whilst I was there. 
O, I ha' lost my sweet breath with trotting ! 

Earl. Death to my heart ! her husband ! What 
saith he ? 

Bird. The frieze-jerkin rascal out with his 
purse, and called me plain bawd to my face. 

Earl. Affliction to me ! then thou spak'st not to 

Bird. I spake to her, as clients do to lawyers 
without money, to no purpose ; but 1 '11 speak with 
him, and hamper him too, if ever he fall into my 
clutches. I '11 make the yellow-hammer her husband 
know, (for all he 's an Italian) that there 's a dif- 
ference between a cogging bawd and an honest 
motherly gentlewoman. Now, what cold whetstones 
lie over your stomacher ? will you have some of my 
aqua ? Why, my lord ! 

Earl. Thou hast killed me with thy words. 

Bird. I see bashful lovers, and young bullocks, 
are knocked down at a blow. Come, come, drink 
this draught of cinnamon-water, and pluck up your 
spirits ; up -with 'em, up with 'em. Do you hear ? 
the whiting mop* has nibbled. 

Earl. Ha ! 

Bird. O, I thought I should fetch you : you can 
ha at that : I '11 make you hem anon. As I 'm a 

* whiting mop.'] t. e. young whiting,— a cant term for a nice 
young woman j a tender creature. 


sinner, I think you 11 find the sweetest, sweetest 
bedfellow of her. O, she lookes so sugaredly, so 
simperingly, so gingerly, so amorously, so amiably ! 
Such a red lip, such a white forehead, such a black 
eye, such a full cheek, and such a goodly little nose, 
now she 's in that French gown, Scotch falls, Scotch 
bum, and Italian head-tire you sent her, and is 
such an enticing she-\^'itch, carrying the charms of 
your jewels about her ! O ! 

Earl. Did she receive them? speak — here 's 
golden keys 
T' unlock thy lips — did she vouchsafe to take 
them ? 

Bird. Did she vouchsafe to take them? there 's a 
question ! you shall find she did vouchsafe. The 
troth is, my lord, I got her to my house, there she 
put off her own clothes, my lord, and put on your's, 
my lord ; provided her a coach ; searched the middle 
aisle in Paul's*, and with three Elizabeth twelve- 
pences pressed three knaves, my lord ; hired three 

* searched the middle aisle in Paufs, and with three Elizabeth 
twelve-pences pressed three knaves.^ Persous of every description, 
with a strange want of reverence for the sanctity of the spot, used 
daily to frequent the body of old St. Paul's. There the young 
gallant gratified his vanity by strutting about in the most fashion- 
able attire ; there the politician discussed the latest news ; there 
he who could not afford to dine, loitered during the dinner-hour; 
there the servant out of place came to be engaged; there the 
pickpocket found the best opportunities for the exercise of his 
talents. &c, 


liveries in Long-lane*, to man her: for all which, so 
God mend me, I 'm to pay this night before sun- set. 

Earl. This shower shall fill them all : rain in 
their laps, 
What golden drops thou wilt. 

Bird. Alas, my lord, I do but receive it with one 
hand, to pay it away with another ! I 'm but your 

Earl, Where is she ? 

Bird. In the green velvet chamber: the poor 
sinful creature pants like a pigeon under the hands 
of a hawk, therefore use her like a woman, my 
lord ; use her honestly, my lord, for, alas, she 's but 
a novice, and a very green thing ! 

Earl. Farewell : I '11 in unto her. 

Bird. Fie upon 't, that were not for your honour ; 
you know gentlewomen use to come to lords' cham- 
bers, and not lords to the gentlewomen's : I 'd not 
have her think you are such a rank rider. Walk 
you here ; I '11 beckon ; you shall see I'll fetch her 
with a wet finger ? 

Earl. Do so. 

Bird. Hist ! why, sweetheart. Mistress Jus- 
tiniano ! why, pretty soul, tread softly, and come 
into this room ; here be rushes, you need not fear 
the creaking of your cork shoes. 

* hired three liveries in Long-lane.^ ''The lane, truelie 
called Long," (Stow's Survey, p. 311, ed. 1598,) running out of 
Aldersgatc-street, and falling into West Smitlifield, abounded in 
shops where second-hand apparel might be procured. 


Enter Mistress Justiniano. 

So, well said ; there 's his honour. I have business, 

my lord : very now the marks are set up, I'll get me 

twelve score off, and give aim*. [E^?7. 

Earl. Y' are welcome, sweet, y' are welcome : 

bless my hand 
With the soft touch of your's. Can you be cruel 
To one so prostrate to you ? even my heart, 
My happiness, and state lie at your feet. 
My hopes me flatter'd that the field was won, 
That you had yielded, (though you conquer me,) 
And that all marble scales that barr'd your eyes 
From throwing light on mine, were quite ta'en off 
By the cunning woman's hand, that works for 

me ; 
Why, therefore, do you wound me now with 

frowns ? 
Why do you fly me ? Do not exercise 
The art of woman on me ; I 'm already 
Your captive, sweet : are these your hate, or 

fears ? 
Mist. Just. I wonder lust can hang at such white 

Earl. You give my love ill names, it is not lust ; 
Lawless desires well temper'd may seem just. 
A thousand mornings Avith the early sun. 
Mine eyes have from your windows watch'd to 


* ffii'p aim.'\ See note • vol. i. p. 59, 

WESTWARD no. 41 

Brightness from those : as oft upon the days 

That consecrated to devotion are, 

Within the holy temple have I stood 

Disguis'd, waiting your presence ; and when your 

Went up towards heaven to draw some blessing 

Mine, as if all my nerves by your's did move, 
Begg'd in dumb signs some pity for my love : 
And thus being feasted only with your sight, 
I went more pleas'd than sick men \vith fresh 

Rich men with honour, beggars do with wealth. 
Mist. Just. Part now so pleas'd, for now you 

more enjoy me. 
Earl. O you do wish me physic to destroy me ! 
Mist. Just. I have already leap'd beyond the 
Of modesty, in piecing out my wings 
With borrow'd feathers : but you sent a sorceress 
So perfect in her trade, that did so lively 
Breathe forth your passionate accents, and could 

A lover languishing so piercingly, 
That her charms wrought upon me, and in pity 
Of your sick heart which she did counterfeit, 
(O, she 's a subtle beldame !) see I cloth'd 
My limbs, thus player-like, in rich attires, 
Not fitting mine estate, and am come forth, 
But whv I know not. 


Earl. Will you love me ? 

Mist. Just. Yes ; 
If you can clear me of a debt that 's due 
But to one man, I'll pay my heart to thee. 

Earl. Who 's that ? 

Mist. Just. My husband. 

Earl. Umph. 

Mist. Just. The sum 's so great, 
I know a kingdom cannot answer it ; 
And therefore I beseech you, good my lord, 
To take this gilding off, which is your own. 
And henceforth cease to throw out golden hooks. 
To choke mine honour : though my husband 's poor, 
I'll rather beg for him than be your whore. 

Earl. 'Gainst beauty you plot treason, if you 
Tears to do violence to so fair a cheek. 
That face was ne'er made to look pale \nth Avant. 
Dwell here, and be the sovereign of my fortunes : 
Thus shall you go attir'd. 

Mist. Just. 'Till lust be tir'd. 
I must take leave, my lord. 

Earl, Sweet creature, stay. 
My coffers shall be your's, my servants yours. 
Myself will be your servant ; and I swear 
By that Avhich I hold dear in you, your beauty, 
(And which I'll not profane) you shall live here 
As free from base wrong as you are from blackness. 
So you will deign but let me enjoy your sight ; 
Answer me, will you ? 


Mist. Just. I will think upon 't. 

Earl. Unless you shall perceive that all my 
And all my actions be to you devoted, 
And that I very justly earn your love, 
Let me not taste it. 

Mist. Just. I will think upon it. 

Earl. But when you find my merits of full 
Will you accept their Avorth ? 

Mist. Just. I'll think upon 't. 
I 'd !^peak with the old woman. 

Earl. She shall come. 
Joys that are born unlook'd for, are born dumb. 


Mist. Just. Poverty, thou bane of chastity. 
Poison of beauty, broker of maidenheads ! 
I see when force nor wit can scale the hold. 
Wealth must ; she '11 ne'er be won that defies gold : 
But lives there such a creature ? O, 'tis rare 
To find a woman chaste that 's poor and fail* I 

Enter Birdlime. 

Bird. Now, lamb, has not his honour dealt like 
an honest nobleman with you ? I can tell you, you 
shall not find him a templar, nor one of these cog- 
ging Catherine-pear-coloured*-beards, that by their 
good wills would have no pretty woman 'scape 

* Catherinr-pear coloured.^ i. c. red. 


Mist. Just. Thou art a very bawd, thou art a 
devil / 

Cast in a reverend shape : thou stale damnation*, 
Why hast thou me entic'd from mine own paradise, 
To steal fruit in a barren \nlderness ? 

Bird. Bawd, and devil, and stale damnation ! 
will women's tongues, like bakers' legs, never go 
straight ! 

Mist. Just. Had thy Circsean magic me trans- 
Into that sensual shape for which thou conjur'st, 
And that I were turn'd common venturer, 
I could not love this old man. 

Bird. This old man, umph ! this old man ! do 
his hoary hairs stick in your stomach ? yet, me- 
thinks, his silver hairs should move you : they 
may serve to make you bodkins. Does his age 
grieve you ? Fool ! is not old wine wholesomest, old 
pippins tooth somest, old wood burn brightest, old 
linen wash whitest? old soldiers, sweetheart, are 
surest, and old lovers are soundest : I ha' tried both. 
Mist. Just. So will not I. 

Bird. You *d have some young perfumed beard- 
less gallantt board you, that spits all his brains out 
at 's tongue's end, would you not? 

* stale damnation.^ So Juliet, in Shakespeare's Romeo and 
Juliet, act iii. sc. 5 ; and Malevole, in the Malcontent, act v. sc. 
2 (see vol. iv.) ; use " ancient damnation'" as a term of re- 

f !jallanl.'\ The old copy, " gallants."' 


Mist. Just. No, none at all ; not any. 

Bird. None at aU ! what do you make there then ? 
Avhy are you a burthen to the world's conscience, 
and an eye-sore to well -given men ? I dare pa^^'n 
my gown, and all the beds in my house, and all the 
gettings in Michaelmas term next, to a tavern 
token*, that thou shalt never be an innocent. 

Mist. Just. Who are so ? 

Bird. Fools : why, then, are you so precise ? 
Your husband 's down the wind ; and will you, like 
a haggler's arrow, be down the weather ? strike 
whilst the iron is hot. A woman, when there be 
roses in her cheeks, cherries on her lips, civet in her 
breath, ivory in her teeth, lilies in her hand, and 
liquorice in her heart, why, she 's like a play ; if 
new, very good company, very good company ; but 
if stale, like old Jeronimo, go by, go byf : therefore, 

* a tavern token.] There being a scarcity of small change, 
tradesmen were allowed to coin tokens — promissory pieces of 
brass or copper, of the value of a farthing. Reed (note on the 
First Part of the Honest Whore, act i. sc. 4,) thinks they were 
called tavern tokens, because they were " probably at first coined 
chiefly by tavern keepers;" but Gifford (note on Ben Jonson's 
Works, vol. i. p. 29,) observes, " that most of them would travel 
to the tavern may be easily supposed, and hence, perhaps, the 

t like old Jeronimo, go by, go by.] An allusion to a passage in 
Kyd's Spanish Tragedy, which has been ridiculed by a host of 
poets ; 

" Hieronimo. Justice, justice to Hieronimo! 
Lorenzo. Back, see'st thou not the king is busie? 
Hieroniitio. O, is he so ? 


as I said before, strike. Besides, you must think that 
the commodity of beauty was not made to lie dead 
upon any young woman's hands ; if your husband 
have given up his cloak, let another take measure 
of you in his jerkin : for as the cobbler in the night 
time walks with his lanthorn, the merchant and the 
lawyer with his link, and the courtier with his torch, 
so every lip has his lettuce to himself; the lob has 
his lass, the collier his dowdy, the western-man liis 
pug, the serving man his punk, the student his nun 
in White-Friars, the puritan his sister, and the 
lord his lady ; which worshipful vocation may fall 
upon you, if you '11 but strike whilst the iron is hot. 

Mist. Just. Witch, thus I break thy spells : were 
I kept brave 
On a king's cost, I am but a king's slave. [Exit. 

Bird. I see, that as Frenchmen love to be bold, 
Flemings to be drunk,We]shmen to be called Britons, 
and Irishmen to be costermongers ; so cockneys, 
especially she cockneys, love not aqua-vitae when 'tis 
good for them. 

Enter Monopoly. 

MoN. Saw you my uncle ? 

Bird. I saw^ him even now going the way of all 

King. Who is he that interrupts our business ? 
Hieronimo. Not I, Hieronimo beware, ^oe by, goe by." 

Sig. G 4. Alkie's ed. n. d. 
It may be just necessary to add, that the Spanish Tragedy is a 
continuation of Thefrst part of Jeronimo , which was most pro 
bably also the work of Kyd. 


flesh, that 's to ssiy, towards the kitchen. Here 's 
a letter to your worship from the party. 

MoN. What party ? 

Bird. The Tenterhook, your wanton. 

MoN. From her ! feugh ! pray thee, stretch me 
no more upon your tenterhook : pox on her, are 
there no 'pothecaries i' th' town to send her physic 
bills to, but me ? She 's not troubled with the 
green sickness still, is she ? 

Bird. The yellow jaundice, as the doctor tells 
me. Troth, she 's as good a peat ! she is fallen 
away so that she 's nothing but bare skin and bone ; 
for the turtle so mourns for you, 

MoN. In black ? 

Bird. Tn black ! you shall find both black and 
blue, if you look under her eyes. 

MoN. Well, sing over her ditty when I 'm in 

Bird. Nay, but will you send her a box of 
Mithridatum and dragon water ; I mean some resto- 
rative words ? Good Master Monopoly, you know 
how welcome y' are to the city, and will you, 
Master Monopoly, keep out of the city ? I know 
you cannot ; would you saw how the poor gentle- 
woman lies ! 

MoN. Why, how lies she ? 

Bird. Troth, as the way lies over Gads-hill, very 
dangerous : you would pity a woman's case, if you 
saw her. Write to her some treatise of pacifica- 


MoN. I '11 write to her to-morrow. 

Bird. To-morrow ! she 'U not sleep then, but 
tumble : and if she might have it to night, it would 
better please her. 

MoN. Perhaps I '11 do 't to-night ; farewell. 

Bird. If you do 't to-night, it would better please 
her than to-morrow. 

MoN. God so, do'st hear ? I 'm to sup this night 
at the Lion, in Shoreditch, with certain gallants : 
canst thou not draw forth some delicate face, that 
I ha' not seen, and bring it thither ? \vat thou ? 

Bird. All the painters in London shall not fit for 
colour as I can : but we shall have some swagger- 
ing ? 

MoN. All as civil, by this light, as lawyers. 

Bird. But I tell you she 's not so common as 
lawyers, that I mean to betray to your table ; for, 
as I 'm a sinner, she 's a knight's cousin ; a York- 
shire gentlewoman, and only speaks a little broad, 
but of very good carriage. 

MoN. Nay, that 's no matter, we can speak as 
broad as she ; but wut bring her ? 

Bird. You shall call her cousin, do you see ? two 
men shall wait upon her, and 1 11 come in by chance : 
but shall not the party be there ? 

MoN. Which party ? 

Bird. The writer of that simple hand. 

MoN. Not for as many angels as there be letters 
in her paper : speak not of me to her, nor our 
meeting, if you love me. Wut come ? 


Bird. Mum, I'll come. 

MoN. Farewell. 

Bird. Good Master Monopoly, I hope to see you 
one day a man of great credit. 

MoN. If I be, I'll build chimneys with tobacco, 
but I'll smoke some : and be sure, Birdlime, I'll 
stick wool upon thy back. 

Bird. Thanks, sir, I know you will; for all the 
kindred of the Monopolies are held to be great 
fleecers. [_Exeunt. 


Enter Sir Gosling Glowworm, Linstock, Whirl- 
pool, ajid the three Citizens' Wives, masked ; viz., 
Mistress Honeysuckle, Mistress Wafer, a7id 
Mistress Tenterhook. 

Sir Gos. So, draw those curtains, and let 's' see 
the pictures under 'em. 

Lin. Welcome to the Stilliard, fair ladies. 
Three Ladies. Thanks, good Master Linstock. 
Whirl. Hans, some wine, Hans. 

Enter Hans, ivith cloth and buns. 

Hans. Yaw, Yaw, you sail hebben it, mester; 
old vine, or new vine? 

Sir Gos. Speak, women. 

Mist. Honey. New Avine, good Sir Gosling: 
wine in the must, good Dutchman, for must is best 
for us women. 

VOL. in. e 


Hans. New vine ! veil; two pots of new vine ! 

[Exit Hans-. 

Mist. Honey. An honest butterbox; for if it be 
old, there 's none of it comes into my belly. 

Mist. Wafer. Why, Tenterhook, pray thee, let's 
dance friskin, and be merry. 

Lin. Thou art so troubled with Monopolies ; 
they so hang at thy heart-strings. 

Mist. Ten. Pox a' my heart, then. 

Enter Hans, with ivine. 

Mist. Honey, Ay, and mine, too : if any courtier 
of them all set up his gallows there, wench, use him 
as thou dost thy pantables*, scorn to let him kiss 
thy heel, for he feeds thee with nothing but court 
holy bread, good Avords, and cares not for thee. Sir 
Gosling, will you taste a Dutch what's you call 'em ? 

Mist. Wafer. Here, Master Linstock, half mine 
is your's. Bun, bun, bun, bun. 

Enter Justiniano. 

Just. Which room ? where are they ? wo ho, ho, 
ho, so, ho, boys ! 

Sir Gos. 'Sfoot, who 's that ? lock our room. 

Just. Not till I am in ; and then lock out tlie 
devil, though he come in the shape of a puritan. 

Three Ladies. Schoolmaster, welcome ! welcome 
in troth. 

• panfah/es.'] i.e. slippers. 


Just. Who would not be scratched with the 
briars and brambles to have such burs stickinsf on 


his breeches ? Save, you, gentlemen : O noble 
knight ! 

Sir Gos. More wine, Hans. 

Just. Am not I, gentlemen, a ferret of the right 
hair, that can make three conies bolt at a clap into 
your pursenets ? Ha, little do their three husbands 
dream what copies I am setting their wives now : 
were 't not a rare jest, if they should come sneaking 
upon us, like a horrible noise of fiddlers* ? 

Mist. Honey. Troth, I'd not care ; let 'em come ; 
I'd tell 'em we'd ha' none of their dull music. 

Mist. Wafer. Here, Mistress Tenterhook. 

Mist. Ten. Thanks, good Mistress AVafer. 

Just. Who 's there ? peepers, intelligencers, 
eavesdroppers ! 

OiMNEs. Uds foot, throw a pot at 's head ! 

Just. O Lord ! O gentlemen, knight, ladies that 
may be, citizens' wives that are, shift for your- 
selves, for a pair of your husbands' heads are knock- 
ing together with Hans his, and enquiring for you. 

Omnes. Keep the door locked. 

Mist. Honey. O, ay, do, do ; and let Sir Gosling 
(because he has been in the Low Countries) swear 
Gotz Sacrament, and drive 'em away with broken 

* 7ioise of ftdiUers.'\ i. e. company of (Uldleis — the expression 
continued in use till, T believe, about the commencement of the 
eighteenth century. 

E 2 


Just. Here 's a wench has simple sparks in her ; 
she 's my pupil, gallants. Good God ! I see a man 
is not sure that his wife is in the chamber, though 
his own fingers hung on the padlock : trap-doors, 
false drabs, and spring locks, may cozen a covey of 
constables. How the silly husbands might here 
ha' been gulled with Flemish money I Come, drink 
up Rhine, Thames, and Meander dry; there 's no- 

Mist. Honey, Ah, thou ungodly master ! 

Just. I did but make a false fire, to try your 
valour, because you cried let 'em come. By this glass 
of woman's wine, \ would not ha' seen their spirits 
walk here, to be dubbed deputy of a ward, I ; they 
would ha' chronicled me for a fox in a lamb's skin. 
But come, is this merry midsummer night agreed 
upon ? when shall it be ? where shall it be ? 

Lin. Why, faith, to-morrow at night. 

Whirl. We '11 take a coach and ride to Ham, or 

Mist. Ten. O, fie upon 't, a coach ! I cannot abide 
to be jolted. 

Mist. Wafer. Yet most of your citizens' wives 
love jolting. 

SirGos. What say you to Blackwall, or Lime- 
house ? 

Mist. Honey. Every room there smells too much 
of tar. 

Lin. Let's to mine host Dogbolt's, at Brainford, 
then ; there you are out of eyes, out of ears ; pri- 


vate rooms, sweet linen, winking attendance, and 
what cheer you will. 

Omnes. Content, to Brainford. 

Mist. Wafer. Ay, ay, let 's go by water, for. 
Sir Gosling, I have heard you say you love to go 
by water. 

Mist. Honey. But, wenches, with what puUies 
shall we slide with some cleanly excuse, out of our 
husbands' suspicion ; being gone westward for 
smelts* all night ? 

Just. That 's the block now we all stumble at ; 
wind up that string well, and all the consort 'sf in 

Mist. Honey. Why then, good man scraper, 'tis 
wound up, I have it. Sirrah Wafer, thy child 's at 
nurse : if you that are the men could provide some 
wise ass that could keep his countenance 

Just. Nay, if he be an ass, he will keep his 

Mist. Honey. Ay, but I mean, one that could 
set out his tale ^vith audacity and say that the child 
were sick, and ne'er stagger at it : that last should 
serve all our feet. 

Whirl. But where will that wise ass be found 

* westward for snielts.'\ A proverbial expression. In 1C03 
appeared a story book (which suggested to Shakespeare some of 
the circumstances in Cyinbeline,') entitled TVestward fur Smells, 
ur the Jl'atcrmaii' s Fare of Mad Merry Western IVenc/ieSy &c. 

f consort ^s.^ See note on Northward Ho, acin, sc. i. 


JcsT. I see I 'm born still to draw dun out a' th' 
mire* for you; that wise beast will I be. I '11 be 
that ass tliat shall groan under the burden of that 
abominable lie: heaven pardon me, and pray God 
the infant be not punished for 't. Let me see : I *11 
break out in some filthy shape like a thrasher, or a 
thatcher, or a sowgelder, or something : and speak 
dreamingly, and swear how the child pukes, and 
eats nothing (as perhaps it does not) and lies at the 
mercy of God, (as all children and old folks do) 
and then, scholar Wafer, play you your part. 

Mist. Wafer. Fear not me, for a veneyt or 

* to draw dun out a' tk? mireJ] Mr. Gifford thus satisfactorily 
describes a game, the allusion to which in Romeo and Juliet, act 
i. sc. iv., had completely puzzled all Shakespeare's commentators ; 
" Dun is in the mire is a Christmas gambol, at which I have often 
played. A log of wood is brought into the midst of the room : this 
is Dun, (the cart-horse,) and a cry is raised, that he is stuck in the 
mire. Two of the company advance, either with or without ropes, 
to draw him out. After repeated attempts, they find themselves 
unable to do it, and call for more assistance. The game continues 
till all the company take part in it, when Dun is extricated of 
course ; and the merriment arises from the awkward and affected 
efforts of the rustics to lift the log, and from sundry arch con- 
trivances to let the ends of it fall on one another's toes." 

Note on Ben Jonson's Works, vol. \ii. p. 283. 

f veney.'\ Or venue, a technical term for a hit or thrust in 
playing with different weapons, was a subject of dispute between 
JMessrs. Steevens and Malone : Mr. Douce has made himself their 
umpire in his Illustrations of Shakespeare, vol. i. p. 233, to whicli 
I refer the reader. In fencing, venue, the French term, answered 
to the Italian stoccata: see Gifford's note on Ben Jonson, vol. i. 


Just. Where will you meet i' th' morning ? 

Sir Gos. At some tavern near the water-side, 
that 's private. 

Just. The Greyhound, the Greyhound in Black- 
friars, an excellent rendezvous, 

LiN. Content, the Greyhound by eight. 

Just. And then you may whip forth, two first, 
and two next on a sudden, and take boat at Bride- 
well-dock most privately. 

Omnes. Be 't so: a good place. 

Just. I '11 go make ready my rustical proper- 
ties*. Let me see, scholar, hie you home, for your 
child shall be sick within this half hour. lExit. 

Enter Birdlime. 

Mist. Honey. 'Tis the uprightest dealing man — 
God 's my pity, who 's yonder ? 

Bird. I 'm bold to press myself under the colours 
of your company, hearing that gentlewoman was in 
the room. A word, mistress. 

Mist. Ten. How now, what says he ? 

p. 39. I wonder that Malone, in his contest with Steevens. failed 
to quote the following passage of a play, whicli he must surely have 
read : — 

" 1 Law. Women, look to 't, the Fencer gives you a veney. 
2 Law. Believe it, he hits home." 

Swetnam, the Woman-hater, 1620, Sig. F2. 
* properties.'] Used here in a theatrical sense — articles neces- 
sary for the scene. 


Sir Gos. Zounds, what 's she ? a bawd, bi' th' 
Lord, is 't not ? 

Mist. Wafer. No, indeed. Sir Gosling, she 's u 
very honest woman, and a midwife. 

Mist. Ten. At the Lion in Shoreditch ? and 
would he not read it ? nor write to me ? I '11 poison 
his supper. 

Bird. But no words that I bewrayed him. 

Mist. Tent. Gentlemen, I must be gone ; I can- 
not stay, in faith: pardon me ; I '11 meet to-morrow : 
come, nurse ; cannot tarry by this element. 

Sir Gos. Mother, you, grannam, drink ere you 

Bird. I am going to a woman's labour ; indeed 
sir, cannot stay. 

[^Exeunt Mislress Tenterhook and Birdlime. 

Mist. Wafer. I hold my life* the black-bird her 
husband whistles for her. 

Mist. Honey. A reckoning. Break one, break 

Sir Gos. Here, Hans. Draw not ; I '11 draw for 
all, as I 'm true knight. 

Mist. Honey. Let him; amongst women tliis 
does stand for la\v. 
The worthiest man, though he be fool, must draw. 


* Mist. Wafer. I hold rmj life, ^-c] The old copy prefixes 
to this speech Aitih., a misprint, I suppose, for " Mub.'^ See 
note on the Dramatis Personee of this play. 



Enter Tenterhook ajul Mistress Tenterhook. 

Ten. What book is that, sweetheart ? 

Mist. Ten. Why, the book of bonds that are due 
to you. 

Ten. Come, what do you with it ? why do you 
trouble yourself to take care about my business ? 

Mist. Ten. Why, sir, doth not that which con- 
cerns you, concern me? You told me Monopoly 
had discharged his bond ; I find by the book of ac- 
counts here, that it is not cancelled. Ere I would 
suffer such a cheating companion to laugh at me, 
I 'd see him hanged, I. Good sweetheart, as ever 
you loved me, as ever my bed was pleasing to you, 
arrest the knave ; we were never beholding to him 
for a pin, but for eating up our victuals ; good 
mouse, enter an action against him. 

Ten. In troth, love, I may do the gentleman 
much discredit, and besides it may be other actions 
may fall very heavy upon him. 

Mist. Ten. Hang him ! to see the dishonesty of 
the knave I 

Ten. O wife, good words : a courtier, a gentle- 

Mist. Ten. Why may not a gentleman be a 
knave ? that were strange, in faith ; but, as I was 


a saying, to see the dishonesty of him, that woukl 
never come since he received the money, to visit us, 
you know ! Master Tenterhook, he hath hung long 
upon you : Master Tenterhook, as I am virtuous, 
you shall arrest him. 

Ten. Why, I know not when he will come to 

Mist. Ten. He 's in town ; this night he sups at 
the Lion in Shoreditch : good husband, enter your 
action, and make haste to the Lion presently. 
There 's an honest fellow, Sergeant Ambush, will 
do it in a trice ; he never salutes a man in courtesy, 
but he catches him as if he would arrest him. Good 
heart, let Sergeant Ambush lie in wait for him. 

Ten. Well, at thy entreaty I will do it. Give me 
my cloak there. Buy a link and meet me at the 
Counter in Wood-street ; buss me, Moll. 

Mist. Ten. Why now you love me : I '11 go to 
bed, sweetheart. 

Ten. Do not sleep till I come, Moll. 

Mist. Ten. No, lamb. [Exit Tenterhook. 

Baa, sheep ! If a woman will be free in this intri- 
cate labyrinth of a husband, let her marry a man of 
a melancholy complexion; she shall not be much 
troubled with him. By my sooth, my husband hath 
a hand as dry as his brains, and a breath as strong 
as six common gardens. Well, my husband is gone 
to arrest Monopoly : I have dealt with a sergeant 
privately, to entreat him, pretending that he is my 
aunt's son ; by this means shall I see my young 


gallant that in this has played his part. When they 
owe money in the city once, they deal Avith their 
lawyers by attorney, follow the court though the 
court do them not the grace to allow them their 
diet. O, the wit of a woman when she is put to 
the pinch 1 [Exit. 


Enter Tenterhook, Sergeant Ambush, and Yeo- 
man Clutch. 

Ten. Come, Sergeant Ambush, come, Yeoman 
Clutch, yon 's the tavern ; the gentleman \nll come 
out presently: thou art resolute ? 

Amb. Who, I ? I carry fire and sword that fight 
for me, here and here. I know most of the knaves 
about London, and most of the thieves too, I thank 
God and good intelligence. 

Ten. I wonder thou dost not turn broker, then. 

Amb. Phew ! I have been a broker already • for 
I was first a puritan, then a banquei'out, then a 
broker, then a fencer, and then sergeant : were not 
these trades would make a man honest ? Peace, 
the door opes ; wheel about. Yeoman Clutch. 

Enter Whirlpool, Linstock, and Monopoly, 

MoN. And e'er I come to sup in tliis tavern 
again ! there 's no more attendance than in a jail : 


and there had been a punk or two in the company, 
then we should not have been rid of the drawers. 
Now were I in an excellent humour to go to a vault- 
ing house : I would break down all their glass win- 
dows, hew in pieces all their join-stools, tear [their] 
silk petticoats, ruffle their periwigs, and spoil their 
painting, — O the gods, what I could do I I could 
undergo fifteen bawds, by this darkness : or if I 
could meet one of these varlets that wear Pannier- 
alley on their backs, sergeants, I would make them 
scud so fast from me, that they should think it a 
shorter way between this and Ludgate, than a con- 
demned cutpurse thinks it between Newgate and 

LiN. You are for no action to night. 
Whirl. No, I 'II to bed. 

MoN. Am not I drunk now ? Implentur veteris 
hacchi, pinguisque tobacco*. 

Whirl. Faith, we are all heated. 
MoN. Captain Whirlpool, when wilt come to court 
and dine with me ? 

Whirl. One of these days, Frank ; but I '11 get 
me two gauntlets for fear I lose my fingers in the 
dishes : there be excellent shavers, I hear, in the 
most of your under offices. I protest I have often 
come thither, sat down, drawn my knife, and ere I 
could say grace, all the meat hath been gone : I 

* Implentur, 8)-c.'\ " Implentur veteris Bacchi pinguisque 
ferincc." Virgil, JEneid.\.2\b. 


have risen and departed thence as hungry as ever 
came country attorney from Westminster. Good 
night, honest Frank ; do not swagger with the 
watch, Frank. [^Exeunt Whirlpool and Linstock. 

Ten. So, now tliey are gone, you may take him. 

Amb. Sir, I arrest you. 

MoN. Arrest me ! at whose suit, you varlets ? 

Clutch. At Master Tenterhook's. 

MoN. "Why, you varlets, dare you arrest one of the 
court ? 

Amb. Come, will you be quiet, sir? 

MoN. Pray thee, good yeoman, call the gentlemen 
back again. There 's a gentleman hath carried a 
hundred pound of mine home with hira to his 
lodging, because I dare not carry it over the fields : 
I '11 discharge it presently. 

Ajib. That 's a trick, sir ; you would procure a 

MoN. Catchpole, do you see ? I will have the 
hair of your head and beard shaved off for this, and 
e'er I catch you at Gray's Inn, by this light, la. 

Amb. Come, will you march ? 

MoN. Are you sergeants Christians? Sirrah, 
thou lookest like a good pitiful rascal, and thou art 
a tall man too it seems ; thou hast backed many a 
man in thy time, I warrant. 

Amb. I have had many a man by the back, sir. 

MoN. Well said, in troth, I love your quality : 
'las 'tis needful every man should come by his own. 


But, as God mend me, gentlemen, I have not one 
cross about me, only you two*. Might not you let 
a gentleman pass out of your hands, and say you 
saw him not ? is there not such a kind of mercy in 
you now and then, my masters ? As I live, if you 
come to my lodging to-morrow morning, I '11 give 
you five brace of angels. Good yeoman, persuade 
your graduate here. I know some of you to be ho- 
nest faithful drunkards; respect a poor gentleman in 
my case. 

Ten. Come, it will not serve your turn. Officers, 
look to him upon your peril. 

MoN, Do you hear, sir ? you see I am in the 
hands of a couple of ravens, here: as you are a 
gentleman, lend me forty shillings ; let me not Hve 
if I do not pay you the forfeiture of the whole bond, 
and never plead conscience. 

Ten. Not a penny, not a penny; good night, sir. 


MoN. Well, a man ought not to swear by any- 
thing in the hands of sergeants, but by silver ; and 
because my pocket is no lawful justice, to minister 
any such oath unto me, I will patiently encounter 
the counter. Which is the dearest ward in prison, 
sergeant ? the knights' ward ? 

* / have not one cross about me, only you twol] Monopoly 
quibbles on the double meaning of o-oss, which signified a piece of 
money — (many pieces of money having a cross on one side) — and 
also a misfortune. 


Amb. No, sir, the master's side, 

MoN. Well the knight is above the master, thougli 
his table be worse furnished : I'll go thither. 

Amb. Come, sir, I must use you kindly ; the 
gentleman's wife that hath arrested you 

MoN. Ay, what of her ? 

Amb. She says you are her aunt's son. 

MoN. I am ? 

Amb. She takes on so pitifully for 3'-our arrest- 
ing ; 'twas much against her will, good gentle- 
woman, that this affliction lighted upon you. 

MoN. She hath reason, if she respect her poor 

Amb. You shall not go to prison. 

MoN. Honest sergeant, conscionable officer, did 
I forget myself even now, a vice that sticks to me 
always Avhen I am drunk, to abuse my best friends ? 
Where didst buy this buff ? Let me not live, but 
I '11 give thee a good suit of durance*. Wilt thou 
take my bond, sergeant ? Where 's a scrivener, a 
scrivener, good yeoman? you shall have my sword 
and hangerst, to pay him. 

* " Where didst buy this buff? let mc not live, but F II give 
thee a good suit of durance,'''^ '• And is not a 6m^ jerkin a most 
sweet robe of durance f says Prince Hall, in Shakespeare's First 
Part of Henry IF., act i. sc. ii. ; on which passage Steevens ob- 
serves, that durance, perhaps, signified some lasting kind of stufT, 
such as we call at present everlasting . 

t hatigers.~\ i. c. fringed and ornamented loops, attached to the 
girdle, in which the small sword or dagger was suspended : — 


Amb. Not SO, sir; but you shall be prisoner in my 
house : I do not think but that your cousin will visit 
you there i' th' morning, and take order for you. 

MoN. Well said : was 't not a most treacherous 
part to arrest a man in the night, and when he is 
almost drunk? when he hath not his wits about 
him, to remember which of his friends is in the sub- 
sidy ? Come, did I abuse you, I recant: 5fou are 
as necessary in a city as tumblers in Norfolk, Sum- 
ners in Lancashire, or rake-hells in an army. 



Enter Justiniano, like a collier, and a Boy. 
Just. Buy any small coal, buy any small coal*. 

" Mens swords in Hangers hang, fast by their side." 

Taylor's (the water poet's) Vertiie of a Jayle and ne- 
cessitie of Hcoigiitg, Tf'orAs, 1630, p. 133. 
* But/ any small coal, buy any small coal.^ This was the com- 
mon cry of colliers : so in one of the rarest of plays, A knacke to 
knowan honest man, 1596; 

" Enter Lelio, like a colliur. 

Le. Will you buy any coles, fine small coles ?" Sig. G. 

Let me here make a remark on a note of Gilford. " With our 
ancestors," says he, " colliers, 1 know not for what reason, lay, 
like Mrs. Quickly, under anill name." Ben Jonson's JJh-is, vol. 
ii. p. 169. 1 believe they were in bad repute, because they used 
to cheat most grossly the purchasers of coals, by giving false 
measure : R. Greene, in his Pleasant Discovery of the coosnage of 
Colliars, appetided to his Notable Discovery of Coosnage, 1591, 
lays open all their knavery. 


Boy. Collier, collier. 

Just. What sayest, boy ? 

Boy. 'Ware the pillory. 

Just. O boy, the pillory assures many a man 
til at he is no cuckold ; for how impossible were it 
a man should thrust his head tlirough so small a 
loop-hole, if his forehead were branched, boy ! 

Boy. Collier, how came the goose to be put upon 
you, ha ? 

. Just. I'll tell thee. The term lying at Winches- 
ter, in Henry the Third's days, and many French- 
women coming out of the Isle of Wight thither, as 
it hath always been seen, (though the Isle of Wight 
could not of long time neither endure foxes nor 
lawyers, yet it could brook the more dreadful cock- 
atrice*), there were many punks in the town, as 
you know our term is their term. Your farmer 
that would spend but threepence on his ordinary, 
would lavisli half a crown on his lechery ; and many 
men, calves as they were, would ride in a farmer's 
foul boots before breakfast ; the commonest sinner 
had more fluttering about her than a fresh punk 
hath when she comes to a town of garrison, or to 
a university. Captains, scholars, servingmen, jurors, 
clerks, townsmen, and the black-guardf, used all to 
one ordinary, and most of them were called to a 
pityful reckoning; for before two returns of Mi- 
chaelmas, surgeons were full of business; the care 

* cockatrice.] A cant name for a prostitute. 
f the blackguard.] See note * vol. i. p. '20. 
VOL. in. F 

66 WESTWARD no. 

of most, secrecy, grew as common as lice in Ireland, 
or as scabs in France. One of my tribe, a collier, 
carried in his cart forty maimed soldiers to Salis- 
bury, looking as pityfuUy as Dutchmen first made 
drunk then carried to beheading ; every one that 
met him cried 'ware the goose*, collier ; and from 
that day to this there 's a record to be seen at Croy- 
don, how that pityful waftage, which indeed was 
virtue in the collier, that all that time would carry 
no coals, laid this imputation on all the posterity. 

Boy. You are full of tricks, collier. 

Just. Boy, where dwells Master Wafer? 

Boy. Why, here ; what wouldest ? I am one of 
his juvenals. 

Just. Hath he not a child at nurse at More- 
clacke ?t 

Boy. Yes ; dost thou dwell there ? 

Just. That I do : the child is wondrous sick ; I 
was wild to acquaint thy master and mistress 
^vith it. 

Boy. I'll up and tell them presently. [_Exit. 

Just. So, if all should fail me, I could turn col- 
lier. O the villany of this age ! how full of secrecy 
and silence (contrary to the opinion of the world) 
have I ever found most women ! I have sat a whole 
afternoon many times by my wife, and looked upon 
her eyes, and felt if her pulses have beat when I 
have named a suspected love ; yet all this while have 

* the ffoose.'] See note on A Cure-for a Cuckold, act iv. sc. i. 
I More-clackel] A common corruption of Mortlake, in Surrey. 


not drawn from her the least scruple of confession. 
I have lain awake a thousand nights, thinking she 
would have revealed somewhat in her dreams, and 
when she has begtm to speak anything in her sleep, 
I have jogged her, and cried, ay, sweet-heart, but 
when will your love come, or what did he say to 
thee over the stall, or what did he do to thee in the 
garden-chamber, or when will he send to thee any 
letters, or when wilt thou send to him any money ? 
What an idle coxcomb jealousy will make a man I 

Enter Wafer, Mistress Wafer, and Boy. 

Well, this is my comfort, that here comes a creature 
of the same head-piece. 

Mist. Wafer. O, my sweet child I Where 's the 
collier ? 

Just. Here, forsooth. 

Mist. Wafer. Run into Bucklersbury* for two 
ounces of dragon-water, some spennaceti and 
treacle. What is it sick of, collier ? a burning- 
fever ? 

Just. Faith, mistress, I do not know the infirmity 
of it. Will you buy any small coal, say you ? 

Wafer. Prithee go in and empty them. Come, 
be not so impatient. 

Mist. Wafer. Ay, ay, ay, if you had groaned 
for 't as I have done, you would have been more 
natural. Take my riding hat, and my kirtle there : 
I'll away presently. 

* Bucklersbury.'] See note*, p. 19. 

F 2 

68 westward: ho. 

Wafer. You \vill not go to night, I am sure. 

Mist. Wafer, As I live, but I will. 

Wafer. Faith, sweetheart, I have great business 
to-night; stay till to-morrow, and I'll go with you. 

Mist. Wafer. No, sir, I will not hinder your 
business. I see how little you respect the fruits of 
your own body. I shall find somebody to bear me 

Wafer. Well, I will defer my business for once, 
and go with thee. 

Mist. Wafer. By this light but you shall not ; 
you shall not hit me i' th' teeth that I was your 
hindrance. Will you to Bucklersbury, sir? 

[Exit Boy. 

Wafer. Come, you are a fool ; leave your weep- 

Mist, Wafer. You shall not go with me, as I 
live. [Exit Wafer. 

Just. Pupil ! 

Mist. Wafer. Excellent master ! 

Just. Admirable mistress I How happy be our 
Englishwomen that are not troubled with jealous 
husbands ! Why, your Italians, in general, are so 
sun-burnt with these dog-days, that your great lady 
there thinks her husband loves her not if he be 
not jealous : what confirms the liberty of our women 
more in England, than the Italian proverb, which 
says if there were a bridge over the narrow seas, 
all the women in Italy would show their husbands a 


million of light pair of heels, and fly over into Eng- 
land ? 

Mist. Wafer. The time of our meeting ? Come. 

Just. Seven. 

Mist. Wafer. The place ? 

Just. In Blackfriars ; there take water, keep 
aloof from the shore, on with your masks, up with 
your sails, and, Westward Ho .' 

Mxsr. Wafer. So. \^Exit. 

Just. O the quick apprehension of women ! 
they,'ll grope out a man's meaning presently. Well, 
it rests now that I discover myself in my true shape 
to these gentlewomen's husbands; for though I 
have played the fool a little, to beguile the memory 
of mine own misfortune, I would not play the knave, 
though I be taken for a banquerout : but indeed, as 
in other things, so in that, the world is much de- 
ceived in me, for I have yet three thousand pounds 
in the hands of a sufficient friend, and all my debts 
discharged. I have received here a letter from my 
wife, directed to Stoad, wherein she most repent- 
ently entreateth my return, with protestation to give 
me assured trial of her honesty ; I cannot tell what 
to think of it, but I will put it to the test. There is 
a great strife between beauty and chastity, and 
that which pleaseth many is never free from temp- 
tation. As for jealousy, it makes many cuckolds, 
many fools, and many banquerouts ; it may have 
abused me, and not my wife's honesty : I '11 try it — 
but first to my secure and doting companion. \_Exit. 



Enter Monopoly and Mistress Tenterhook. 

MoN. I beseech you, Mistress Tenterhook — be- 
fore God, I'll be sick, if you will not be merry. 

Mist. Ten. You are a sweet beagle. 

MoN. Come, because I kept from town a little, — 
let me not live if I did not hear, the sickness was in 
town very hot. In troth, thy hair is of an excellent 
colour since I sav/ it. O those bright tresses, like 
to threads of gold* ! 

Mist. Ten, Lie and ashes suffer much in the 
city for that comparison. 

Mon. Here 's an honest gentleman will be here 
by and by, was born at Fulham ; his name is Gos- 
ling Glowworm. 

Mist. Ten. I know him : what is he ? 

Mon. He is a knight. What ailed your husband 
to be so hasty to arrest me ? 

Mist. Ten. Shall I speak truly ? shall I speak 
not like a woman ? 

Mon. Why not like a woman ? 

Mist. Ten. Because women's tongues are like to 
clocks ; if they go too fast, they never go true : 
'twas I that got my husband to arrest thee, I have. 

* those bright tresses like to threads of gold !] Reads very 
like a line from some poem, but I have searciied many volumes 
for it in vain. 


MoN. I am beholding to you. 

Mist. Ten. Forsooth, I could not come to the 
speech of you : I think you may be spoken withal 

MoN. I thank you : I hope you '11 bail me, 
cousin ? 

Mist. Ten. And yet why should I speak with 
you ? I protest I love my husband. 

MoN. Tush, let not any young woman love a man 
in years too well. 

Mist. Ten. Why ? 

MoN. Because he '11 die before he can re- 
quite it. 

Mist. Ten. I have acquainted Wafer and Honey- 
suckle with it, and they allow my wit for 't ex- 

Enter Ambush. 

O honest Sergeant ! 

Amb. Welcome, good Mistress Tenterhook. 

Mist. Ten. Sergeant, I must needs have my cou- 
sin go a little way out of to\vn with me, and to se- 
cure thee, here are two diamonds ; they are worth 
two hundred pound ; keep them till I return him. 

Amb. Well, 'tis good security. 

Mist. Ten. Do not come in my husband's sight, 
in the mean time. 


Enter Whirlpool, Sir Gosling Glowworm, Lin- 
stock, Mistress Honeysuckle, and Mistress 

Amb. Welcome, gallants. 

Whirl. How now! Monopoly arrested! 

MoN. O my little Honeysuckle, art come to visit 
a prisoner ? 

Mist. Honey. Yes, faith, as gentlemen visit mer- 
chants, to fare well, or as poets young quaint revel- 
lers, to laugh at them. Sirrah, if I were some fool- 
ish justice, if I would not beg thy wit, never trust 

Mist. Ten. Why, I pray you ? 

Mist. Honey. Because it hath been concealed all 
this while ; but come, shall we to boat ? we are 
furnished for attendants, as ladies are ; we have our 
fools and our ushers. 

Sir Gos. I thank you, madam ; I shall meet 
your wit in the close one day. 

Mist. Wafer. Sirrah, thov knowest my husband 
keeps a kennel of hounds ? 

Mist. Honey. Yes. 

Whirl. Doth thy husband love venery ? 

Mist. Wafer. Venery ! 

Whirl. Ay, hunting, and venery, are words of 
one signification. 

Mist. Wafer. Your two husbands *, and he, 

* husbamls.'\ The old copy, " husband.'' 


have made a match to go find a hare about Busty 

Mist. Ten. They '11 keep an excellent house till 
we come home again. 

Mist. Honey. O excellent ! a Spanish dinner, a 
pilcher, and a Dutch supper, butter and onions. 

Lin. O, thou art a mad wench ! 

Mist. Ten, Sergeant, carry this ell of cambric to 
Mistress Birdlime : tell her, but that it is a rough 
tide and that she fears the water, she should have 
gone with us. 

Sir Gos. O thou hast an excellent wit ! 

Whirl. To boat, hay ! 

Mist. Honey. Sir Gosling, I do take it your legs 
are married. 

Sir Gos. Why, mistress ? 

Mist. Honey. They look so thin upon it. 

Sir Gos. Ever since I measured with your hus- 
band, I have shrunk in the calf. 

Mist. Honey. And yet you have a sweet tooth in 
your head. 

Sir Gos. O, well dealt for the calf 's head ! You 
may talk what you will of legs, and rising in the 
small, and swelling beneath the garter ; but 'tis 
certain when lank thighs brought long stockings 
out of fashion, the courtier's leg, and his slender 
tilting staff, grew both of a bigness. Come, for 
Brainford ! \_Exeunt. 

* Rusty Cumy.^ Qy. " Bushy Causy." 



Enter Mistress Birdlime and Lucy. 

Bird. Good morrow, Mistress Lucy : how did 
you take your rest to night ? how dotli your good 
worship like your lodging ? what will you have to 
breakfast ? 

Lucy. A pox of the knight that was here last 
night ; he promised to have sent me some wild fowl ; 
he was drunk, I '11 be stewed else. 

Bird. Why, do not you think he will send them ? 

Lucy. Hang them, 'tis no more in fashion for 
them to keep their promises, than 'tis for men to 
pay their debts : he will lie faster than a dog trots. 
What a filthy knocking was at door last night! 
some puny inn-a-court-men, I '11 hold my contribu- 

Bird. Yes, in troth, were they, civil gentlemen with- 
out beards : but to say the truth, I did take exceptions 
at their knocking, took them aside, and said to them, 
gentlemen, this is not well, that you should come in 
this habit, cloaks and rapiers, boots and spurs ; I 
protest to you, those that be your ancients in the 
house would have come to my house in their caps 
and gowns, civilly, and modestly. I promise you 
they might have been taken for citizens, but that 


they talk more liker fools. Who knocks there ? Up 
into your chamber. [Exit Lucy. 

Enter Honeysuckle. 

Who are you ? some man of credit, that you come 
in muffled thus ? 

Honey. Who 's above ? 

Bird. Let me see your face first. O master Ho- 
neysuckle I why, the old party, the old party. 

Honey. Phew, I will not go up to her : nobody 


Bird. As I live : will you give me some sack ? 

where 's Opportunity? 

Enter Christian. 

Honey. What dost call her ? 

Bird, Her name is Christian ; but Mistress Lucy 
cannot abide that name, and so she calls her Oppor- 

Honey. Very good, good. 

Bird. Is 't a shilling, bring the rest in aquaviicB. 

\Exit Christian. 
Come, shall 's go to noddy* ? 

Honey. Ay, and thou wilt, for half an hour. 

Bird. Here are the cards ; deal. God send me 
deuces and aces with a court card, and I shall get 
by it. 

* noddy^ A game on the cards, which appears, from pas- 
sages in our old writers, to liave been played in more ways than 


Honey. That can make thee nothing. 

Bird. Yes, if I have a coat card turn up. 

Honey. I show four games. 

Bird. By my troth, I must show all and little 
enough too, six games: play your single game, I 
shall double with you anon. Pray you lend me some 
silver to count my games. 

Enter Christian, ivith sack. 

How now, is it good sack ? 

Chris. There 's a gentleman at door would speak 
with you. 

Honey. God 's so, I will not be seen by any 

Bird. Into that closet, then. 

\_Exit Honeysuckle. 
What, another muffler ? 

Enter Tenterhook. 

Ten. How dost thou, Mistress Birdlime ? 
Bird. Master Tenterhook ! the party is above in 
the dining chamber. 
Ten. Above? 
Bird. All alone. [Exit Tentcrhuok. 

Re-enter Honeysuckle. 

Honey. Is he gone up ? who was 't, I pray 

Bird. By this sack I will not tell you : say that 
you were a country gentleman, or a citizen that 


hath a young wife, or an inn-of-chancevy-man, 
should I tell you ? pardon me. This sack tastes of 
horse-flesh* : I warrant you the leg of a dead 
horse hangs in the butt of sack to keep it quick. 

Honey. I beseech thee, good Mistress Birdlime, 
tell me who it was. 

Bird. O God, sir! we are sworn to secrecy as 
well as surgeons. Come, drink to me, and let 's to 
our game. 

Enter Tenterhook artd Lucy, abovei. 

Ten. Who am I ? 

Lucy. You? pray you, unblind me 5 Captain 
Whirlpool ? no. Master Linstock ? — pray unblind 
me; you are not Sir Gosling Glowworm, for he 
wears no rings of his fingers ; Master Freeze- 
leather ? — O, you are George the drawer at the 
Mitre, — pray you, unblind me, — Captain Puckfoist ? 
Master Counterpane, the lawyer ? what the devil 
mean you ? beshrew your heart, you have a very 
dry hand : are you not mine host Dog-bolt of 

* This sack tastes of horse-Jiesh, 8i.c.~\ So Glapthorne; "This 
Coller spovles my drinking, or else this sack has korse-Jlesh in 't, 
it rides upon my stomacke." 

The Hol/amler, 1640, Sig. H 2. 

The statute 12 Car. ii. c. 25, sect. 11, wliich forbids the adul- 
teration of wines, mentions, among other ingredients used for tliat 
purpose, " nor any sort oi flesh whatsoever." 

■j- aboveJ] See note * vol. i. p. 314. 


Brainford ? Mistress Birdlime ? Master Honey- 
suckle ? Master Wafer ? 

Ten. What, the last of all your clients ! 

Lucy, O, how dost thou, good cousin ? 

Ten. Ay, you have many cousins. 

Lucy. Faith, I can name many that I do not 
know ; and suppose I did know them, what then ? T 
will suffer one to keep me in diet, another in apparel, 
another in physic, another to pay my house-rent. I 
am just of the nature of alchemy ; I will suffer every 
plodding fool to spend money upon me ; marry, 
none but some worthy friend to enjoy my more re- 
tired and useful faithfulness. 

Ten. Your love, your love. 

Lucy. O, ay, tis the curse that is laid upon our 
quality ; what we glean from others we lavish upon 
some trothless well- faced younger brother, that 
loves us only for maintenance. 

Ten. Hast a good term, Lucy ? 

Lucy. A pox on the term ! and now I think on't, 
says a gentleman last night, let the pox be in 
the town seven year, Westminster never breeds 
cobwebs, and yet 'tis as catching as the plague, 
though not all so general. There be a thousand 
bragging Jacks in London, that will protest they 
can wrest comfort from me, when, I swear, not one 
of them know whether my palm be moist or not. 
In troth I love thee : you promised me seven ells of 


Wafer knocks end enters. 
Who 's that knocks ? 

Honey. What ! more sacks to the mill ! I'll to my 
old retirement. \^Exit. 

Bird, How doth your good worship ? Passion 
of my heart, what shift shall I make ? How hath 
your good worship done a long time ? 

Wafer. Very well, Godamercy. 

Bird. Your good worship, I think, be riding out 
of town. 

Wafer. Yes, believe me, I love to be once a 
v,feek a horseback, for methinks nothing sets a man 
out better than a horse. 

Bird. 'Tis certain, nothing sets a woman out 
better than a man. 

Wafer. What, is Mistress Lucy above ? 

Bird. Yes, truly. 

Wafer. Not any company with her ? 

Bird, Company ! shall I say to your good wor- 
ship and not lie, she hath had no company, — let me 
see how long it was since your worship was here ; 
you went to a butcher's feast at Cuckold's -haven* 
the next day after Saint Luke's day — not this fort- 
night, in good truth. 

Wafer. Alas, good soul ! 

Bird. And why was it ? go to, go to, I think 
you know better than L The wench asketh every 
day, when will Master Wafer be here ? And if 
knights ask for her, she cries out at stairhead, 

* Cuckold' s-hav€n,'\ See note on Northward Ho, act iii. sc. ii. 


as you love my life, let 'em not come uji ; I'll do 
myself violence if they enter. Have not you pro- 
mised her somewhat ? 

Wafer. Faith, I think she loves me. 

Bird. Loves I well, would you knew what I 
know, then you would say somewhat. In good 
faith, she's very poor ; all her gowns are at pawn ; 
she owes me five pound for her diet, besides forty 
shillings I lent her to redeem two half silk kirtles 
from the broker's ; and do you think she needed be 
in debt thus if she thought not of somebody ? 

Wafer. Good, honest wench. 

Bird. Nay, in troth, she's now entering into bond 
for five pounds more ; the scrivener is but new 
gone up to take her bond. 

Wafer. Come, let her not enter into bond ; 
I'll lend her five pound ; I'll pay the rest of her 
debts : call down the scrivener. 

Bird. I pray you, when he comes down, stand 
muffled, and I'll tell him you are her brother. 

Wafer. If a man have a good honest wench, that 
lives wholly to his use, let him not see her want. 

\^Exit Birdlime and enter above. 

Bird. O, Mistress Lucy, Mistress Lucy, you are 
the most unfortunate gentlewoman that ever 
breathed ! your young Avild brother came newly out 
of the country ! he calls me bawd, swears I keep a 
bawdy house, says his sister is turned whore, and 
that he will kill and slay any man that he finds in 
her company. 


Ten. What conveyance will you make with me, 
Mistress Birdlime ? 

Lucy. O God, let him not come up! 'tis the 
swaggeringest wild oats. 

Bird. I have pacified him somewhat, for I told 
him that you were a scrivener come to take a band* 
of her; now, as you go forth, say, she might have 
had so much money if she had pleased, and say, she 
is an honest gentlewoman, and all will be well. 

Ten. Enough. Farewell, good Lucy. 

Bird. Come, change your voice, and muffle you. 
\_Exeunt above Birdlime and Tenterhook. 

Lucy. What trick should this be ! I have never a 
brother. I'll hold my life some franker customer is 
come, that she slides him off so smootlily. 

Enter below Tenterhook and Birdlime. 

Ten. The gentlewoman is an honest gentle- 
woman as any is in London, and should have had 
thrice as much money upon her single bond, for the 
good report I hear of her. 

Wafer. No, sir, her friends can furnish her 
with money. 

Ten. By this light, I should know that voice. 
Wafer ! od's-foot, are you the gentlewoman's bro- 

Wafer. Are you turned a scrivener. Tenter- 
hook ? 

Bird. I am spoiled. 

* band.~\ i. e. bond. 
VOL. in. G 


Wafer. Tricks of Mistress Birdlime, by this 

Enter Honeysuckle. 

Honey. Hoick covert, hoick covert ! why, gen- 
tlemen, is this your hunting ? 

Ten. a consort ! what make you here. Honey- 
suckle ? 

Honey. Nay, what make you two here? O, 
excellent Mistress Birdlime ! thou hast more tricks 
in thee than a punk hath uncles, cousins, brothers, 
sons, or fathers : an infinite company. 

Bird. If I did it not to make your good worships 
merry, never believe me. I will drink to your wor- 
ship a glass of sack. 

Enter Justiniano. 

Just. God save you. 

Honey. & Wafer. Master Justiniano, welcome 
from Stoad ! 

Just. Why, gentlemen, I never came there. 

Ten. Never there ! where have you been, then ? 

Just. Marry, your daily guest, I thank you. 

Omnes. Ours ! 

Just. Ay, yours. I was the pedant that learned 
your wives to write ; I was the coUier that brought 
you news your child was sick : but the truth is, for 
aught I know, the child is in health, and your wives 
are gone to make merry at Brainford. 

Wafer. By my troth, good wenches, they little 
dream where we are now. 


Just. You little dream what gallants are with 

Ten. Gallants wth them ! I'd laugh at that. 

Just. Four gallants, by this light; Master Mo- 
nopoly is one of them. 

Ten. Monopoly ! Id laugh at that, in faith. 

Just. Would you laugh at that ! why do ye 
laugh at it, then. They are there by this time. I 
cannot stay to give you more particular intelligence: 
I have received a letter from my wife here. If you 
will call me at Putney, I'll bear you company. 

Ten. Od's-foot, what a rogue is Sergeant Am- 
bush ! I'll undo him, by this light. 

Just. I met Sergeant Ambush, and willed* him 
come to this house to you presently. So, gentle- 
men, I leave you. Bawd, I have nothing to say to 
you now. Do not think too much in so dangerous 
a matter, for in women's matters 'tis more danger- 
ous to stand long deliberating, than before a battle. 


Wafer. This fellow's poverty hath made him an 
arrant knave. 

Bird. Will your worship drink any aquavitae ? 

Ten. a pox on your aquavitae. Monopoly, that 
my wife urged me to arrest, gone to Brainford ! 

Enter Ambush. 
Here comes the varlet. 

willed.'] See note *, p. 264, vol. ii. 


Amb. I am come, sir, to know your pleasure. 

Ten. What, hath Monopoly paid the money yet? 

Amb. No, air, but he sent for money. 

Ten. You have not carried him to the Counter ? 
he is at your house still ? 

Amb. O Lord, ay, sir, as melancholic, &c.* 

Ten. You lie like an arrant varlet. By this 
candle, I laugh at the jest 

Bird. And yet he 's ready to cry. 

Ten. He 's gone with my wife to Brainford : 
and there be any law in England, I'll tickle ye for 

Amb. Do your worst, for I have good security, 
and I care not ; besides, it was his cousin, your 
wife's, pleasure, that he should go along with her. 

Ten. Hoy day, her cousin ! Well, sir, your se- 
curity ? 

Amb. Why, sir, two diamonds here. 

* as melancholic, Sfcl Was the performer to conclude this 
speech with any simile that he thought proper ? Our old drama- 
tists sometimes trusted to the player's powers of extemporizing : 
so Greene ; 

" Faire Polixena, the pride of Ilion, 
Fearc not Achilles over-madding boy, 
Pyrrus shall not, Sfc, 

Sounes, Orgalio, why sufferest thou this old trot to 
come so nigh me ?" 

Orlando Furioso, ed. 1599, sig. F 4. 
And Heywood ; 

" Jockie is led to whipping over the stage, speaking some^tvords, 
but of no importance.^' 

Edward the Fourth, pat t 2d, ed. 1619, sig. Y. 


Ten. O, my heart ! my wife's two diamonds ! 
Well, you '11 go along and justify this ? 

Amb. That I will, sir. 

Enter Lucy. 

Lucy. Who am I ? 

Ten. What the murrian care I who you are ? 
hold off" your fingers, or I'll cut them with this dia- 

Lucy. I'll see 'em ifaith. So, I'll keep these dia- 
monds till I have my silk gown and six ells of cam- 

Ten. By this light, you shall not. 

Lucv. No! what, do you think you have fopsiri 
hand? sue me for them. 

Wafer & Honey. As you respect your credit, 
let 's go. 

Ten. Good Lucy, as you love me, let me have 
them J it stands upon my credit : thou shalt have 
anything ; take my purse. 

Lucy. I will not be crossed in my humour, sir. 

Ten. You are a damned filthy punk. What an 
unfortunate rogue was I, that ever I came into this 
house ! 

Bird. Do not spurn any body in my house, you 
were best. 

Ten. Well, well. 

[^Exeunt Tenterhook, Wafer, and Honeysuckle. 

Bird. Excellent Lucy ! the getting of these two 
diamonds may chance to save the gentlewomen's 
credit. Thou heardest all ? 


Lucy. O, ay, and by my troth pity them : what a 
filthy knave was that betrayed them ! 

Bird. One that put me into pityful fear ; Master 
Justiniano here hath layed lurking, like a sheep- 
biter, and in my knowledge hath drawn these gen- 
tlewomen to this misfortune ; but I'll down to Queen- 
hive, and the watermen which were wont to carry 
you to Lambeth -Marsh*, shall carry me thither. It 
may be I may come before them. I think I shall 
pray more, what for fear of the water, and for ray 
good success, than I did this twelvemonth. 



Enter the Earl and three Servingmen, 

Earl. Have you perfum'd this chamber ? 

Omnes. Yes, my lord. 

Earl. The banquet ? 

Omnes. It stands ready. 

Earl. Go, let mus'c 
Charm with her excellent voice an awful silence 
Through all this building, that her sphery soul 
May, on the wings of air, in thousand forms 
Invisibly fly, yet be enjoy'd. Away. 

1 Serv. Does my lord mean to conjure, that he 
draws thesef strange characters ? 

* Lambeth Marsh. "l A noted haunt of prostitutes and sharp- 

f these.] The old copy, " t/ris,'" 


2 Serv. He does ; but we shall see neither the 
spirit that rises, nor the circle it rises in. 

3 Serv. 'T would make our hair stand up an end 
if we should. Come, fools, come ; meddle not with 
his matters : lords may do any thing. 

[Exeunt Servingmen. 
Earl. This night shall my desires be amply 
And all those powers that taste of man in us. 
Shall now aspire that point of happiness, 
Beyond which sensual eyes never look, sweet plea- 
sure : 
Delicious pleasure, earth's supremest good, 
The spring of blood, though it dry up our blood. 
Rob me of that, — though to be drunk with plea- 
As rank excess even in best things is bad. 
Turns man into a beast, — yet that being gone, 
A horse, and this, the goodliest shape, all one. 
We feed, wear rich attires, and strive to cleave 
The stars with marble towers, fight battles, spend 
Our blood to buy us names, and in iron hold 
Will we eat roots to imprison fugitive gold : 
But to do thus, what spell can us excite? 
This, the strong magic of our appetite ; 
To feast which richly, life itself undoes. 
Who 'd not die thus ? to see, and then to choose. 
Why even those that starve in voluntary wants, 
And to advance the mind, keep the flesh poor, 
The world enjoying them, they not the world. 


Would they do this, hut that they are proud to suck 

A sweetness from such sourness ? let 'em so, 

The torrent of my appetite shall flow 

With happier stream. A woman ! O, the spirit 

And extract of creation ! This, this night. 

The sun shall envy. What cold checks our blood ? 

Her l)ody is the chariot of my soul, 

Her eyes my body's light, which if I want. 

Life wants, or if possess, I undo her, 

Turn her into a devil, whom I adore, 

By scorching her with the hot steam of lust. 

'Tis but a minute's pleasure, and the sin 

Scarce acted is repented : shun it than*: 

O, he that can abstain, is more than man ! 

Tush ! Resolv'st thou to do ill ? Be not precise : 

Who writet of virtue best, are slaves to vice. 

The music sounds alarum to my blood ; 
What 's bad I follow, yet I see what 's good. J 

[ Whilst the song is heard, the Earl draws a 
curtain and sets forth a banquet. He then 
exit, and enters presently with Justiniano, 
attired like his loife, masked ; leads him to 
the table, places him in a chair, and in 
dumb signs courts him till the song be done. 

* //)««.] A form oi then, common in old poets. 
j- write.^ The old copy, "writes.'''' 

+ What 's bad, &c.] " video meliora proboque, deteriora^ 
secjuor." — Ovid, Met. vii. 20. 



Earl. Fair ! be not doubly mask'd with that and 
night : 
Beauty, like gold, being us'd becomes more bright. 

Just. Will it please your lordship to sit ? I 
shall receive small pleasure, if I see your lordship 

Earl. Witch ! hag ! what art thou, proud dam- 
nation ? 

Just. A merchant's wife. 

Earl. Fury, who rais'd thee up ? what com'st 
thou for ? 

Just. For a banquet. 

Earl. I am abus'd, deluded. Speak, what art 
thou ? 
Uds death, speak, or I '11 kill thee. In that habit 
I look'd to find an angel, but thy face 
Shows th' art a devil. 

Just. My face is as God made it, my lord : I am 
no devil, unless women be devils ; but men find 'em 
not so, for they daily hunt for them. 

Earl. What art thou that dost cozen me thus ? 

Just. A merchant's wife, I say, Justiniano's 
wife ; she, whom that long birding-piece of your's,! 
mean that wicked mother Birdlime, caught for your 
honour. Why, my lord, has your lordship forgot 
how ye courted me last morning ? 

Earl. The devil I did! 
Just, Kissed me last morning. 

Earl, Succubus, not thee. 

Just. Gave me this jewel, last morning. 


Earl, Not to thee, Harpy, 

Just. To me, upon mine honesty ; swore you 
would huild me a lodging by the Thames side with 
a water-gate to it, or else take me a lodging in 

Earl. I swore so ! 

Just. Or keep me in a labyrinth, as Harry kept 
Rosamond, where the Minotaur, my husband, should 
not enter. 

Earl, I sware so, but, gipsey, not to thee. 

Just. To me, upon my honour ; hard was the 
siege, which you laid to the crystal walls of my 
chastity, but I held out you know ; but because I 
cannot be too stony-hearted, I yielded, my lord, by 
this token, my lord, (which token lies at my heart 
like lead,)but by this token, my lord, that this night 
you should commit that sin which we all know with 

Earl. Thee! 

Just. Do I look ugly, that you put thee upon 
me ? did I give you my hand to horn my head, that *s 

* Cole-harbotir.'\ Or Coal-harbour — a corruption of Cold-har- 
bour, or Coldharborough, was an old building in Dovvngate Ward. 
Stow (Survey, p. 188, ed. 1598,) tells us, " The last deceased Earle 
[of Shrewsbury] tooke it down, and in place thereof builded a great 
number of small tenements, now ietten out for great rents to 
people of all sorts." 

Debtors and persons not of the most respectable character used 
to take refuge there : Middleton calls it " the Devil's sanctuary." 
Trkkc lo calc/i the old one, 1608, Sig. E 3. 


to say my husband, and is it come to thee ? is my 
face a filthier face, now it is yours, than when it was 
his ? or have I two faces under one hood ? I con- 
fess I have laid mine eyes in brine, and that may 
change the copy ; but, my lord, I know what I 

Earl. A sorceress : thou shalt witch mine ears 
no more ; 
If thou canst pray, do 't quickly, for thou diest. 

Just. I can pray, but I will not die, thou liest. 
My lord, there drops your lady ; and now know. 
Thou unseasonable lecher, I am her husband. 
Whom thou wouldst make whore. Read; she 
speaks there thus : 
\_Mistress Justiniano is discovered, lying as if 
Unless I came to her, her hand should free 
Her chastity from blemish ; proud I was 
Of her brave mind ; I came, and seeing what 

Poverty, and the frailty of her sex 
Had, and was like to make her subject to, 
I begg'd that she would die ; my suit was granted: 
I poison'd her ; thy lust there strikes her dead ; 
Horns fear'd, plague worse, than sticking on the 
Earl. O God, thou hast undone thyself and me ! 

* Mistress Justiniano is discovered, lying as if dead.'\ This 
stage -direction is not in the old copy — I suppose Justiniano here 
drew back a curtain. 


None live to match this piece; thou art too 
bloody : 

Yet for her sake, whom I '11 embalm with tears, 

This act with her I bury, and to quit 

Thy loss of such a jewel, thou shalt share 

My living with me ; come, embrace. 
Just. My lord. 

Earl. Villain, damu'd merciless slave, I '11 tor- 
ture thee 

To every inch of flesh. A\'hat ho I help, who 's 
there ? 

Come hither : here 's a murderer, bind him. How 

What noise is this ? 

Enter the Servingmen. 

1 Serv. My lord, there are three citizens face 
me down, that here 's one Master Parenthesis a 
schoolmaster, with your lordship, and desire he may 
be forthcoming to 'em. 

Just. That borrow'd name is mine. Shift for 
yourselves ; 
Away, shift for yourselves ; fly, I am taken. 

Earl. Why should they fly, thou screech-owl? 
Just. I will tell thee ; 
Those three are partners with me in the murder ; 
We four commix'd the poison. Shift for your- 
Earl. Stop 's mouth, and drag him back : en- 
treat 'em enter. 


Enter Tenterhook, Wafer, and Honeysuckle, 

O, what a conflict feel I in my blood ! 

I would I were less great to be more good. 

Y' are welcome ; wherefore came you ? Guard the 

When I behold that object, all my senses 
Revolt from reason. He that offers flight, 
Drops down a corse. 
All Three. A corse I 

1 Serv. Ay, a corse : do you scorn to be worms' 
meat more than she ? 

Just. See, gentlemen, the Italian that does 

Beneath the moon, no baseness like the horn, 
Has pour'd through all the veins of yon chaste 

Strong poison to preserve it from that plague. 
This fleshly lord, he doted on my wife ; 
He would have wrought on her and play'd on me ; 
But to pare otf these brims, I cut off her, 
And gull'dhim with this lie, that you had hands 
Dipt in her blood with mine ; but this I did, 
That his stain'd age and name might not be hid. 
My act, though ^^ld, the world shall crown as just ; 
I shall die clear, when he lives soil'd with lust. 
But come, rise, Moll ; awake, sweet Moll ; th'ast 

The woman rarely, counterfeited well. 
1 Serv. Sure, sh'as nine lives. 


Just. See, Lucrece is not slain : 
Her eyes, which lust call'd suns, have their first 

And all these frightments are but idle dreams : 
Yet, afore Jove, she had her knife prepar'd, 
To let her* blood forth ere it should run black. 
Do not these open cuts now cool your back ? 
Methinks they should ; when vice sees with broad 

Her ugly form, she does herself despise. 

Earl. Mirror of dames, I look upon thee now, 
As men long blind having recover'd sight, 
Amaz'd, scarce able are to endure the light. 
Mine own shame strikes me dumb: henceforth the 

I'll read shall be thy mind, and not thy look. 

Honey. I would either we were at Brainford to 
see our wives, or our wives here to see this pa- 

Ten. So would I ; I stand upon thorns. 

Earl. The jewels which I gave you, wear ; your 
I'll raise on golden pillars : fare you well. 
Lust in old age, like burnt straw, does even choke 
The kindlers, and consumes in stinking smoke. 


Just. You may follow your lord by the smoke, 

* her.'\ The old copy, " his." 


1 Serv. If fortune had favoured him, we might 
have followed yoa by the horns. 

Just. Fortune favours fools ; your lord 's a wise 
lord. [Exeunt Servingmeii.'] So, how now ? ha ! 
This is that makes me fat, now ; is t not ratsbane 
to you, gentlemen, as pap was to Nestor ? but I 
know the invisible sins of your wives hang at your 
eye-lids, and that makes you so heavy-headed. 

Ten. If I do take 'em napping, I know what Til 

Honey. I'll nap some of them. 

Ten. That villain. Monopoly, and that Sir Gos- 
ling, treads 'em all. 

Wafer. Would I might come to that treading. 

Just. Ha, ha, so would I. Come, Moll: the 
book of the siege of Ostend*, writ by one that 
dropped in the action, will never sell so well as a 
report of the siege between this grave, this wicked 
elder and thyself ; an impression of you two would 
away in a May morning. Was it ever heard that 
such tirings were brought away from a lord by any 
wench but thee, Moll, without paying, unless the 
wench connycatched him ? Go thy ways : if all 
the great Turk's concubines were but like thee, the 
ten-penny infidelt should never need keep so many 

* the siege of Ostend.] See note +, p. 11. 
t the ien-pennr/ infidel.] SoDekker; 
" Wilt figlit, Turke-a-tenpence?" 

Su/iromasti.r, 1C02. sig. H 2. 


geldings to neigh over 'em. Come, shall this 
western voyage hold, my hearts ? 

All Three, Yes, yes. 

Just. Yes, yes ! s'foot, you speak as if you had 
no hearts, and look as if you were going westward 
indeed*. To see how plain dealing women can pull 
down men ! Moll, you'll help us to catch smeltst, 
too ? 

Mist. Just. If you be pleased. 

Just. Never better since I wore a smock. 

Honey. I fear our oars have given us the bagj. 

Wafer. Good, I'd laugh at that. 

Just. If they have, would theirs § might give 
them the bottle. Come, march whilst the women 
double their files. Married men, see, there 's comfort ; 
the moon 's up : 'fore Don Phoebus, I doubt we shall 
have a frost this night, her horns are so sharp: do 
you not feel it bite ? 

Ten, I do, I 'm sure. 

Just. But we '11 sit upon one another's skirts i' 
th' boat, and lie close in straw, like the hoary cour- 
tier. Set on 

To Brainford now, where if you meet frail wives, 
Ne'er swear 'gainst horns, in vain dame Nature 
strives, [^Exeunt. 

* westward indeedJ] i. e. to Tyburn. 
+ to catch smelts.] See note *, p. 53. 

t / fear our oars have given us the bag.] To give the hag 
means to cheat. 

^ theirs.] Old copy, " wheres.^^ 



Enter Monopoly, Whirlpool, Linstock, and 
Mistress Honeysuckle, Mistress Wafer, and 
Mistress Tenterhook, their hats off. 

MoN. Why, chamberlain, will not these fiddlers 
be drawn forth ? are they not in tune yet ? or are 
the rogues afraid a' th' statute*, and dare not travel 
so far without a passport ? 

Whirl. What, chamberlain ! 

Lin. Where 's mine host ? what, chamberlain ! 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Anon, sir ; here, sir ; at hand, sir. 

Mon. Where 's this noiset ? what a lousy town 's 
this ! Has Brainford no music in 't ? 

Cham. They are but rosining, sir, and they '11 
scrape themselves into your company presently. 

Mon. Plague a' their cat's-guts and their scrap- 
ing : dost not see women here, and can we, think- 
est thou, be without a noise then ? 

Cham. The troth is, sir, one of the poor instru- 
ments caught a sore mischance last night; his most 
base bridge fell down ; and fcelike they are making 
a gathering for the reparations of that. 

* the statute.'] " Statute against vagabonds." MS. note by 

I noise.] See note *, p. 51. 


Whirl. When they come, let 's have 'em with a 

Cham. Well, sir ; you shall, sir. 

MoN. Stay, chamberlain ; where 's our knight, 
Sir Gosling ? where 's Sir Gosling ? 

Cham. Troth, sir, my master and Sir Gosling are 
guzzling ; they are dabbling together fathom deep ; 
the knight hath drunk so much health to the gen- 
tleman yonder, on his knees,* that he has almost lost 
the use of his legs. 

Mist. Honey. O, for love, let none of 'em enter 
our room, fie ! 

Mist. Wafer. I would not have 'em cast up their 
accounts here, for more than they mean to be drunk 
this twelvemonth. 

Mist. Ten. Good chamberlain, keep them and 
their healths out of our company. 

Chamb. I warrant you, their healths shall not 
hurt you. {^Exit. 

MoN. Ay, well said ; they 're none of our giv- 
ing : let 'em keep their own quarter. Nay, I told 
you the man would soak him if he were ten knights ; 
if he were a knight of gold they 'd fetch him over. 

Mist. Ten. Out upon him! 

Whirl. There 's a lieutenant and a captain 
amongst 'em, too. 

MoN. Nay, then, look to have somebody lie on 

* the knight hath drunk so much health to the gentleman 
yonder on his kneesJ] This was a foolish custom of the day, at 
which the Puritans expressed the highest indignation. 


tlie earth for 't : it 's ordinary for your lieutenant to 
be drunk with your captain, and your captain to cast 
with your knight. 

Mist. Ten. Did you never hear how Sir Fabian 
Scarecrow (even such another) took me up one 
night before my husband, being in wine ? 

Mist. Wafer. No indeed, how was it ? 

Mist. Ten. But I think I took him down with a 

Mist. Honey. How, good Tenterhook ? 

Mist. Ten. Nay, I '11 have all your ears take part 
of it. 

Omnes. Come, on then. 

Mist. Ten. He used to frequent me and my hus- 
band divers times ; and at last comes he out one 
morning to my husband, and says, Master Tenter- 
hook, says he, I must trouble you to lend me two 
hundred pound about a commodity which I am to 
deal in ; and what was that commodity but his 
knighthood ? 

Omnes. So. 

Mist. Ten. Why, you shall, Master Scarecrow, 
says my good man : so within a little while after. 
Master Fabian was created knight. 

MoN. Created a knight ! that 's no good he- 
raldry ; you must say dubbed. 

Mist. Ten. And why not created, pray ? 

Omnes. Ay, well done, put him down at 's own 

Mist. Ten. Not created ! why all things have 
their being by creation. 

H -l 


Lin. Yes, by my faith is 't. 

Mist. Ten. But to return to my tale. 

Whirl. Ay, marry ; mark now. 

Mist. Tbn. When he had climbed up this costly 
ladder of preferment, he disburses the money back 
again very honourably ; comes home, and was by 
my husband invited to supper. There supped with 
us, besides, another gentleman incident to the 
court, one that had bespoke me of my husband, to 
help me into the banquetting house and see the re- 
velHng, a young gentleman*, and that wag our 
schoolmaster, Master Parenthesis, for I remember 
he said grace, — methinks I see liim yet, how he 
turned up the white a'th' eye, when he came to the 
last gasp, and that he was almost past grace ! 

Mist. Wafer. Nay, he can do 't. 

Mist. Ten. All supper time, my new-minted 
knight made wine the waggon to his meat, for it 
ran doAvn his throat so fast, that before my chamber- 
maid had taken half up he was not scarce able to 

MoN. A general fault at citizens' tables. 

Mist. Ten. And I, thinking to play upon him, 
asked him. Sir Fabian Scarecrow, quoth I, what 
pretty gentlewoman will you raise up now to stall 
her your lady ? but he, like a foul-mouthed man, 
swore, zounds I '11 stall never a punk in England ; 

* gentleman.^ Qy. " gent/ewoman" from wli;it follows in the 
next page 


a lady ! there 's too many already. O fie, Sir Fa- 
bian, quoth I, will you call her that shall be your 
wife such an odious name ? and then he sets 
out a throat, and swore again, like a stinking- 
breathed knight as he was, that women were like 

Mist. Honey, & Mist. Wafer. O, filthy knave ! 

Mist. Ten. They 'd break over any hedge to 
change their pasture, though it were worse : fie, 
man, fie, says the gentlewoman. 

Mon. Very good. 

Mist. Ten. And he, bristling up his beard to rail 
at her too, I cut him over the thumbs thus ; why, 
Sir Fabian Scarecrow, did I incense my husband to 
lend you so much money upon your bare word, and 
do you backbite my friends and me to our faces ? 
I thought you had had more perseverance ; if you 
bore a knightly and a degenerous mind, you would 
scorn it ; you had wont to be more deformable 
amongst women ; fie that you '11 be so humoursome ; 
here was nobody so egregious towards you. Sir 
Fabian : and thus in good sadness, I gave him the 
best words I could pick out, to make him ashamed 
of his doings. 

Whirl. And how took he this correction ? 

Mist. Ten. Very heavily, for he slept presently 
upon 't ; and in the morning was the sorriest knight, 
and I warrant is so to this day, that lives by bread in 

Mon. To see what wine and women can do ! the 




one makes a man not to have a word to throw at a 
dog, the other makes a man to eat his own words, 
though they were never so filthy. 

Whirl. I see these fiddlers cannot build up their 
bridge that some music may come over us. 

Lin. No, faith, they are drunk too ; Avhat shall 's 
do, therefore ? 

MoN. Sit up at cards all night. 
Mist. Wafer. That 's serving man's fashion. 
Whirl. Drink burnt wine and eggs then. 
Mist. Honev. That 's an exercise for your suburb 

Mist. Ten. No, no, let 's set upon our posset 
and so march to bed ; for I begin to wax light with 
having my natural sleep pulled out a' mine eyes. 

Omnes. Agreed, be 't so ; the sack posset and to 

Mon. What, chamberlain ! I must take a pipe of 

Three Women. Not here, not here, not here. 
Mist. Wafer. I '11 rather love a man that takes 
a purse, than him that takes tobacco. 

Mist. Ten. By my little finger, I '11 break all 
your pipes, and burn the case and the box too, and 
you draw out your stinking smoke afore me. 

MoN. Prithee, good Mistress Tenterhook, I '11 
ha' done in a trice. 

Mist. Ten. Do you long to have me swoon ? 

MoN. I '11 use but half a pipe, in troth. 

Mist. Ten. Do you long to see me lie at your feet? 


MoN. Smell to 't ; 't is perfumed. 

Mist. Ten. O God, O God, j'oii anger me ! you 
stir my blood ; you move me ; you make me spoil a 
good face with frowning at you. This was ever 
your fashion, so to smoke my husband when you 
come home, that I could not abide him in mine eye ; 
he was a mote in it, methought, a month after. 
Pray spawl in another room ; fie, fie, fie ! 

MoN. Well, well; come, we '11 for once feed her 

Mist. Honey. Get two rooms off at least, if you 
love us. 

Mist. Wafer. Three, three. Master Linstock, 

Lin. 'S foot, we '11 dance to Norwich*, and take it 
there, if you '11 stay till we return again. Here ';< 
a stir ! You '11 ill abide a fiery face that cannot 
endure a smoky nose. 

MoN. Come, let 's satisfy our appetite. 

Whirl. And that will be hard for us ; but we '11 
do our best. 

\_Exeunt Monopoly, Whirlpool, and Linstock. 

Mist. Ten. So ; are they departed ? What string 
may we three think that these three gallants liarp 
upon, by bringing us to this sinful town of Brainford ? 

Mist. Honey. I know what string they would 
harp upon, if they could put us into the right tune. 

* dance to Norwic/i.^ An allusion to a feat of Kempe, the 
actor, of which he published an account, called Kemps nine duim 
ivonder Performed ina dauncefrom lMndonloNorwick,\6Q0, 4lo. 


Mist. Wafer. I know what one of 'em buzzed 
in mine ear, till, like a thief in a candle, he 
made mine ears burn ; but I swore to say 

Mist. Ten. I know as verily they hope, and brag 
one to another, that this night they '11 row west- 
ward in our husbands' wherries as we hope to be 
rowed to London to-morrow morning in a pair of 
oars. But, wenches, let 's be wise, and make rooks 
of them that I warrant are now setting pursenets to 
connycatch us. 

Both. Content. 

Mist. Ten. They shall know that citizens' wives 
have wit enough to outstrip twenty such gulls ; 
though we are merry let 's not be mad; be as 
wanton as new-married wives, as fantastic and light 
headed to the eye as feather-makers, but as pure 
about the heart as if we dwelt amongst 'em in 
Blackfriars *. 

Mist. Wafer. We '11 eat and drink with 'em. 

Mist. Ten. O yes ; eat with 'em as hungerly 
as soldiers ; drink as if Ave were froes t; talk as 
freely as jesters ; but do as little as misers, who, 
like dry nurses, have great breasts but give no 
milk. It were better we should laugh at tlieir 

* as fantastic and light-headed to the eye as feather-makers, 
but as pure about the heart as %f we dtvelt amongst ''em in Black- 
friars.^ Blackfriars was famed for the residence of Puritans, 
some of whom, most inconsistently with their religious opinions, 
followed the trade of feather-making. 

f froes.^ i. p. frows. 


popinjays than live in fear of their prating tongues. 
Though we lie all night out of the city, they shall 
not find country wenches of us ; but since we ha' 
brought 'em thus far into a fool's paradise, leave 'em 
in 't : the jest shall be a stock to maintain us and 
our pewfellows in laughing at christenings, cryings 
out, and upsittings this twelve month. How say you, 
wenches ? have I set the saddle on the right horse ? 

Both. O, 't will be excellent. 

Mist. Wafer. But how shall we shift 'em off. 

Mist. Ten. Not as ill debtors do their creditors 
\\-ith good words, but as lawyers do their clients 
when they 're overthrown by some new knavish 
trick ; and thus it shall be, one of us must dissemble 
to be suddenly very sick. 

Mist. Honey. I '11 be she. 

Mist. Ten. Nay, though we can all dissemble 
well, yet I'll be she; for men are so jealous, or 
rather envious of one another's happiness, especially 
in these* out of tovATi gossipings, that he who shall 
miss his hen, if he be a right cock indeed, will watch 
the other from treading. 

Mist. Wafer. That 's certain ; I know that by 

Mist. Ten. And, like .^sop's dog, unless him- 
self might eat hay, will lie in the manger and starve, 
but he 11 hinder the horse from eating any : besides 
it will be as good as a Welch liook for you to keep 

* these. ^ The old copy '• I his." 


out the other at the staves end ; for you may boldly 
stand upon this point, that unless every man's heels 
may be tript up, you scorn to play at football. 

Mist. Honey, That 's certain ; peace, I hear 
them spitting after their tobacco. 

Mist. Ten. A chair, a chair ; one of you keep 
as great a coil and calling as if you ran for a mid- 
wife, th' other hold my head whilst I cut my lace. 

Mist. Wafer. Passion of me! Master Monopoly, 
Master Linstock I and you be men, help to daw * 
Mistress Tenterhook ! O quickly, quickly ! she 's 
sick and taken with an agony. 

Enter, as she cries, Monopoly, Whirlpool, and 

Omnes. Sick ! How ? how now ? what's the 
matter ? 

MoN. Sweet Clare, call up thy spirits. 

Mist. Tent. O, Master Monopoly, my spirits 
will not come at my calling ! I am ternl)le and ill. 
Sure, sure, I 'm struck with some wicked planet, for 
it hit my very heart. O, I feel myself worse and 
worse ! 

MoN. Some bui-nt sack for her, good wenches, or 
posset drink. Po.x. a' this rogue chamberlain ; one 
of you call him. How her pulses beat ! a draught 

* daw.^ Qy. " draw ;" but to daw means still in the north of 
England to awaken, resuscitate : see Todd's ed. of Johnson's 
Diet., and Jamieson's Supplement to Etym. Diet, of the Scot. 


of cinamon water now for her were better than two 
tankards out of the Thames. How now, ha ? 

Mist. Ten. Ill, ill, ill, ill, ill. 

MoN. I 'm accurst to spend money in this town 
of iniquity ; there 's no good thing ever comes out 
of it ; and it stands upon such musty ground, by 
reason of the river, that I cannot see liow a tender 
woman can do well in 't. 'S foot, sick now, cast 
down now 't is come to the push ! 

Mist. Ten. My mind misgives me that all 's not 
sound at London. 

Whirl. Pox on 'em that be not sound ; what 
need that touch you ? 

Mist. Ten. I fear you '11 never carry me thither. 

Omnes. Pooh, pooh, say not so. 

Mist. Ten. Pray let my clothes be utterly un- 
done, and then lay me in my bed. 

LiN. Walk up and down a little. 

Mist. Ten. O, Master Linstock, 't is no walk- 
ing will serve my turn ! Have me to bed, good sweet 
Mistress Honeysuckle. I doubt that old hag, Gil- 
lian of Brainford *, has bewitched nie. 

* Gillian of Brainford ^\ Gillian, Julian, or Joan of Brentford 
was a reputed witch of some celebrity. 

hjl of hreyntfords testament. Newly compiled, n. d. 4to., con- 
sisting of eight leaves, is among the rarest of black letter tracts ; 
it was written by Robert, and printed by William, Copland. In 
this very low and vulgar production no mention is made of Gil- 
lian's being addicted to witchcraft : as the Bodleian copy is now 
before me, I (juote a few lines from it : 

" At Brentford on the west of London 

Nygh to a place y' called is Syon There 


MoN. Look to her, good wenches. 
Mist. Wafer. Ay, so we will, and to you too. 
This was excellent. 

^Exeunt Mistress Tenterhook, Mistress Honey- 
suckle, and Mistress Wafer. 
Whirl. This is strange. 

Lin. VUlanous spiteful luck ! No matter, th* 
other two hold bias. 

There dwelt a widow of a homly sort 

Honest in substaunce and full of sport 
Dally she cowd w* pastim and Jestes 

Among her neyghbours and her gestes 
She kept an hie of ryghtgood lodgyng 
For all estates that thyder was comyng." 
The reader who has any curiosity to know what Gillian be- 
queathed to her friends, may gratify it by turning to Nash's 
Summers last will and testament. 1600. Sig. B 2. 

This lady was the subject of a play, as appears from the follow- 
ing memoranda of Heuslowe : 
" R. at the gelyons comedye [Julian of Brent- /. s. d. 

ford] theS of Jenewary 1592 : [1] o xxxxiiii o." 

" Feb. 1598-9. Friar Fox and Gillian of Brentford, by Thomas 
Downton and Samuel Redly." 

M alone' s Shakespeare (by Boswell), vol. iii. 
pp. 299 and 322. 
In the two early 4tos. of Shakespeare's Merry Wives of 
Windsor, when Mistress Page says that Falstatf 
'• might put on a gowne and a muffler, 
And so escape." 
Mistress Ford answers, 

" That 's well remembred, my maid's Ant, 
Gillian of Brainford, hath a gowne above." 

4to. 1619. Sig F. 
The passage does not occur in the enlarged Mernj Wives of 
Windsor, found in the common editions of Shakespeare. 


Whirl. Peace, mark how he 's nipt ; nothing 
grieves me so much as that poor Pyramus here 
must have a wall this night between him and his 

MoN. No remedy, trusty Troilus ; and it grieves 
me as much that you '11 want your false Cressida to- 
night, for here 's no Sir Pandarus to usher you into 
your chamber. 

Lin. 1 '11 summon a parley to one of the wenches, 
and see how all goes. 

MoN. No whispering with the common enemy, 
by this iron ; he sees the devil that sees how all 
goes amongst the women to-night. Nay, 's foot, 
if I stand piping till you dance, damn me. 

Lin. Why you '11 let me call to 'em but at tlie 
key -hole ? 

MoN. Pooh, good Master Linstock, I '11 not stand 
by whilst you give fire at your key-holes. I '11 hold 
no trencher till another feeds ; no stirrup till another 
gets up ; be no door-keeper. I ha' not been so often 
at court, but I know what the backside of the 
hangings are made of ; I '11 trust none under a 
piece of tapestry, namely a coverlet. 

Whirl. What will you say if the wenches do 
this to gull us ? 

MoN. No matter, I '11 not be doubly gulled by 
them and by you : go, will you take the lease of the 
next chamber, and do as I do ? 

Both. And what 's that ? 


MoN. Any villany in your company, but no- 
thing out on 't : will you sit up, or lie by 't. 

Whirl. Nay, lie, sure, for lying is most in 

MoN. Troth then I '11 have you before me. 

Both. It shall be yours. 

MoN. Yours i' faith : I '11 play Janus A\dt]i two 
faces, and look asquint both ways for one night. 

Lin. Well, sir, you shall be our door-keeper. 

MoN. Since we must swim, let 's leap into one 
We '11 either be all naught, or else all good. 



Entei- a Noise of Fiddlers*, following the Cham- 

Chamb. Come, come, come, foUoAV me, follow me. 
I warrant you ha' lost more by not falling into a 
sound last night, than ever you got at one job since 
it pleased to make you a noise. 1 can tell you, gold 
is no money v.'ith 'em. Follow me and fum, as you 
go : you shall put something into their ears, whilst 
I provide to put something into their bellies. Follow 
close and fum. [Exeunt. 

* a noise of Fiddlers.'^ See note *, p. 51. 


Erder Sir Gosling Glowworm and Birdlime 
pulled along by him. 

Sir Gos. What kin art thou to Long Meg of 
Westminster *? th' art like her. 

Bird. Somewhat alike, sir, at a blush, nothing 
akin, sir, saving in height of mind, and that she was 
a goodly woman. 

Sir Gos. Mary Ambreet, do not you know 
me ? had not I a sight of this sweet phisnomy at 
Rhenish wine-house, ha ? last day, i' th' Stillyard, 
ha?J whither art bound, galle5''foist§ ? whither art 

* Long Meg of Westminster. '[ An Amazon often alluded to 
by our old writers. She was the lieroine of a play noticed in 
Henslowe's memoranda ; 

" 14of febreary 1594, at long I. s. d. 

mege of westmester,\\Q'\ - - - iii ix o" 
Malone's Skukespeare (by Boswell), vol. iii. p. 304. 
She also figured in a ballad entered on the Stationers' books in that 
year. In 1635, appeared a tract, entitled The Life of Long Meg 
of IVestminster, containing the mad merry prankes she played in 
her life time, 8(c. 

f Mary Ambree^ Was as famous as the lady last mentioned. 
The valorous acts performed at Gaunt by the brave bonnie lass 
Mary Ambree, who in revenge of her lover's death did play her 
part most gallantly, may be found in Percy's Reliques, vol. ii. p. 
216, ed. 1767. 

J the Rhenish wine-house - - - »' th' Stillyard.'] See note *, 
p. 34. 

§ galleyfoist.l A large barge with oar.s. When our old wri- 
ters talk of " the galleyfoist," they mean the Lord Mayor of Lon- 
don's barge. The word is formed of galley, and foist, a light 
vessel, — Fr. fuste. 


bound ? whence comest thou, female yeoman- a'- 

Bird. From London, sir. 

Sir Gos. Dost come to keep the door, Asca- 
part* ? 

Bird. My reparations hither is to speak with the 
gentlewoman here, that drunk with your worship at 
the Dutch house of meeting. 

Sir Gos. Drunk with me ! you lie, not drunk 
with me : but 'faith what wouldest with the women? 
they are abed : art not a midwife ? one of 'em told 
me thou wert a nightwoman. 

\_Music within : the Fiddlers. 

Bird. I ha' brought some women abed, in my 
time, sir. 

Sir Gos. Ay, and some young men too, hast not. 
Pandora ? how now, where 's this noise ? 

Bird. I '11 commit your worship. 

Sir Gos. To the stocks ? art a justice ? shalt not 
commit me. 

Enter Fiddlers. 
Dance first 'faith : why , scrapers appear under the 
wenches' comical window t, by th' lord ! Uds dag- 
gers, cannot sin be set ashore once in a reign upon 
your countiy quarters, but it must have fiddling ? 

* Ascapart.^ A renowned giant, whom Sir Eevis of Soutli- 
ampton conquered. 

f wenches' comical window. 1 Qy .'^ comical wenches' window.'' 


what set of villains are you, you perpetual raga- 
muffins ? 

Fid. The town consort*, sir. 

Sir Gos. Consort, with a pox I cannot the shak- 
ing of the sheetst be danced without your town 
piping ? nay then let all hell roar. 

Fid. I beseech you, sir, put up yours, and we '11 
put up ours. 

Sir Gos. Play, you lousy Hungarians J: see, 
look the Maypole is set up, we '11 dance about it : 
keep this circle, Maquerelle§. 

Bird. I am no mackerel, and I 'U keep no 

Sir Gos. Play, life of Pharaoh, play : the bawd 
shall teach me a Scotch jig. 

Bird. Bawd ! I defy thee, and thy jigs, whatso- 
ever thou art : were I in place where, I 'd make thee 
prove thy words. 

* consort.^ See note on Northward i/o, act ii. sc. i. 
f the shaking of the sheets.'\ The name of an old dance, often 
mentioned with a double entendre by our early dramatists. 

I Hungarians .'\ A cant term, alluding either to the Hunga- 
rians who once overran a considerable part of Europe, or to the 
condition of the persons addressed, — hungry fellows. See notes 
of Shakespeare's commentators on The Merry Wives of Windsor, 
act. i. sc. iii. 

II Maquerelle.^ So the old pandaress is called in the Malcon. 
tent : see vol. iv. Brathwait has ; 

" Yet, howsoere this Maquerella trade, 
She 's tane in Court and City for a maid." 

The Honest Ghost, 1658, p. 19. 


Sir Gos. I would prove 'em, mother best-be- 
trust : why do not I know you, grannam ? and that 
sugar-loaf*? ha! do I not, Megaera ? 

Bird. I am none of your Megs : do not nick- 
name me so ; I will not be nicked. 

Sir Gos. You will not: you will not : how many 
of my name, of the Glowworms, have paid for your 
furred gowns, thou woman's broker ? 

Bird. No, sir, I scorn to be beholding to any 
glowworm that lives upon earth for my fur : I can 
keep myself warm Avithout glowworms. 

Sir Gos. Canst sing, woodpecker? come, sing 
and wake 'em. 

Bird. Would you should well know it, I am no 
singing woman. 

Sir Gos. Howl then : 's foot, sing or howl, or 
I '11 break your ostrich egg-shell there. 

Bird. My egg hurts not you : what do you mean, 
to flourish so? 

Sir Gos. Sing, Madge, Madge ; sing, owlet. 

Bird. How can I sing with such a sour face ? I 
am haunted with a cough and cannot sing. 

Sir Gos. One of your instruments, mountebanks. 
Come, here, clutch, clutch. 

Bird. Alas, sir, I 'm an old woman, and know 
not how to clutch an instrument! 

Sir Gos. Look, mark; to and fro, as I rub it: 

* sugar-loaf.^ i. e. high-crowned hat. 


make a noise: it 's no matter ; any hunt 's up*, to 
waken vice . 

Bird. I shall never rub it in tune. 

Sir Gos. Will you scrape ? 

Bird. So you will let me go into the parties, I will 
saw and make a noise. 

Sir Gos. Do then : sha't into the parties, and 
part 'em ; s^ha't, my lean Laena. 

Bird. If I must needs play the fool in my old 
days, let me have the biggest instrument, because I 
can hold that best : I shall cough like a broken- 
winded horse, if I gape once to sing once. 

Sir Gos. No matter ; cough out thy lungs. 

Bird. No, sir, though I 'm old, and worm-eaten, 
I 'm not so rotten. [^Coughs. 

A Song. 

Will your worship be rid of me now ? 

Sir Gos. Fain, as rich men's heirs would be of 
their gouty dads. That 's the hot-house, where 
your parties are sweating : amble ; go, tell the he 
parties I have sent 'em a mast to their ship. 

Bird. Yes, forsooth, I 11 do your errand. [Exit. 

Sir Gos. Half musty still, by thundering Jove ! 
With what wedge of villany might I cleave out an 
hour or two ? Fiddlers, come strike up ; march 
before me ; the chamberlain shall put a crown for 

* hidits'up.^ A tune played to rouse sportsmen in tlie 

1 2 


you into his bill of items. You shall sing bawdy 
songs under every window i' th' town ; up, mil the 
clovA'ns start, down come the wenches ; we '11 set the 
men a fighting, the women a scolding, the dogs a 
barking ; you shall go on fiddling, and I follow 
dancing Lantsera : curry your instruments, play, 
and away. \_Exeunt. 


Enter Tenterhook, Honeysuckle, Wafer, Jus- 
TiNiANO, and Mistress Justiniano, with Am- 
bush, and Chamberlain. 

Honey. Sergeant Ambush, as th' art an honest 
fellow, scout in some back room, till the watch- 
word be given for sallying forth. 

Amb. Dun 's the mouse*. [^Exit. 

Ten. a little low woman, sayest thou, in a velvet 
cap, and one of 'em in a beaver ? — Brother Honey- 
suckle, and brother Wafer, hark' ye, they are they. 

Wafer. But art sure their husbands are abed 
with 'em ? 

Cham. I think so, sir ; I know not ; I left 'em to- 
gether in one room, and what division fell amongst 
'em the fates can discover, not I. 

Ten. Leave us, good chamberlain, we are some 

* Dun 's the mouse.'\ See the notes of the commentators on 
" Tutj dun 's the mouse, the constable's own word." 

Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, act i. sc. 4. 


of their friends; leave us, good chamberlain, be 
merry a little, leave us, honest chamberlain. 

\_Exit Chamberlain. 
We are abused, we are bought and sold in Brain- 
ford Market ; never did the sickness of one belied 
nurse-child stick so cold to the hearts of three 
fathers ; never were three innocent citizens so hor- 
ribly, so abominably wrung under the withers. 

Wafer*. What shall we do? how shall we help 
ourselves ? 

Honey. How shall we pull this thorn out of our 
foot, before it rankle ? 

Ten. Yes, yes, yes, well enough ; one of us stay 
here to watch, do you see ? to watch ; have an eye, 
have an ear. I and my brother Wafer, and Master 
Justiniano, will set the town in an insurrection, 
bring hither the constable, and his bill-men, break 
open upon 'em, take 'em in their wickedness, and 
put 'em to their purgation. 

Honey. & Wafer. Agreed. 

Just. Ha, ha, purgation ! 

Ten. We '11 have 'em before some country jus- 
tice of coram, (for we scorn to be bound to the 
peace,) and this justice shall draw his sword in 
our defence : if we find 'em to be malefactors, we '11 
tickle 'em. 

Honey. Agreed : do not say, but do 't, come. 

Just. Are you mad ? do you know what you do ? 
whither will you run ? 

* Wafer.] The old copy, " Both." 


All Three. To set the town in an uproar. 
Just. An uproar ! will you make the townsmen 
think that Londoners ne\'er come hither but upon 
Saint Thomas's night ? Say you should rattle up 
the constable, thrash all the country together, 
hedge in the house with flails, pike-staves, and 
pitch-forks, take your wives napping, these western 
smelts nibbling, and that, like so many Vulcans, 
every smith should discover his Venus dancing with 
Mars in a net, would this plaster cure the head- 
ache ? 

Ten. Ay, it would. 

All Three. Nay, it should. 

Just. Nego, Nego ; no no, it shall be proved 
unto you, your heads would ache worse ; when wo- 
men are proclaimed to be light, they strive to be 
more light ; for who dare disprove a proclamation ? 

Ten. Ay, but when light wives make heavy hus- 
bands, let these husbands play mad Hamlet*, and 
cry revenge : come, and we '11 do so. 

Mist. Just. Pray stay, be not so heady, at my 

Just. My wife entreats you, and I entreat you, 
to have mercy on yourselves, though you have none 
over the women. \ '11 tell you a tale : this last 
Christmas, a citizen and his wife, as it might be one 

* p/ay mad Hamlet, and cry revengeS] One ef the numerous 
passages in contemporary writers, attesting the popularity of 
Shakespeare's Hainlet, which was most probably first produced in 


of you, were invited to the revels one night at one 
of the Inns a' Court; the husband having business, 
trusts his wife thither to take up a room for him 
before : she did so ; but before she went, doubts 
arising what blocks her husband would stumble at, 
to hinder his entrance, it was consulted upon by 
what token, by what trick, by what banner or brooch 
he should be known to be he, when he rapped at the 

All Three. Very good. 

Just. The crowd, he was told, would be greater, 
their clamours greater, and able to drown the throats 
of a shoal of fishwives : he himself, therefore, de- 
vises an excellent watchword, and the sign at which 
he would hang out himself, should be a horn ; he 
Avould wind his horn, and that should give 'em 
warning that he was come. 

All Three. So. 

Just. The torchmen and whifflers* had an item to 
receive him : he comes, rings out his horn with an 
alarum, enters with a shout ; all the house rises, 
thinking some sowgelder pressed in ; his wife blushed, 

* wh'fflers.^ " The term is, undoubtedly, borrowed from whiffle, 
another name for a fife or small fiute ; for whifflers were originally 
those who preceded armies or processions, as fifers or pipers. 

. . In process of time, the term whiffler, which had always 
been used in the sense of a_/?/e7', came to signify any person who 
went before in a procession. Minsheu, in his Dictionary, 1617, 
describes him to be a club or staff-bearer. Sometimes, the 
whifflers carried white staves," &c. — Deuce's Illustrations of 
Shakespeare, vol. i. p. 507. 


the company jested ; the simple man, like a beggar 
going to the stocks, laughed, as not being sensible 
of his own disgrace ; and hereupon the punies set 
down this decree, that no man shall hereafter come 
to laugh at their revels, if his wife be entered 
before him, unless he carry his horn about him. 

Wafer. I '11 not trouble them. 

Just. So, if you trumpet abroad and preach at the 
market-cross your wives' shame, 'tis your own 

All Three. What shall we do, then? 

Just. Take my counsel, I'll ask no fee for 't : bar 
out host, banish mine hostess, beat away the cham- 
berlain, let the ostlers walk, enter you the cham- 
bers peaceably, lock the doors gingerly, look upon 
your wives woefully, but upon the evil doers most 

Ten. What shall we reap by this ? 

Just. An excellent harvest, this : you shall bear 
the poor mouse -trapped guilty gentlemen call for 
mercy ; your wives you shall see kneeling at your 
feet, and weeping, and wringing, and blushing, and 
cursing Brainford, and crying pardminez moi,pardon- 
nez moi, pardonnez moi! whilst you have the choice 
to stand either as judges to condemn *em, beadles 
to torment 'em, or confessors to absolve 'em. And 
what a glory will it be for you three, to kiss your 
wives like forgetful husbands, to exhort and for- 
give the young men like pityful fathers, then to call 
for oars, then to cry Hay for London ! then to 


make a supper, then to drown all in sack and sugar, 
then to go to bed, and then to rise and open shop, 
where you may ask any man what he lacks with 
your cap off, and none shall perceive whether the 
brims wring you. 

Ten. We '11 raise no towns. 

Honey. No, no ; let 's knock first. 

Waper. Ay, that 's best ; I '11 summon a parley. 


Mist. Ten. [ivithin] Who 's there ? have you 
stock-fish in hand, that you beat so hard? who are 

Ten. That 's my wife : let Justiniano speak, for 
all they know our tongues. 

Mist. Ten. [icithiri] What a murrain ail these 
colts, to keep such a kicking ? Monopoly ? 

Just. Yes. 

Mist. Ten. {withiii] Is Master Linstock up, too, 
and the captain? 

Just. Both are in the field ! \vi\\ you open your 
door 1 

Mist. Ten. [within] O, you are proper gamesters, 
to bring false dice with you from London, to cheat 
yourselves ! Is 't possible that three shallow wo- 
men should gull three such gallants ? 

Ten. What means this ? 

Mist. Ten. [^vithiTi] Have we defied you upon 
the walls all night, to open our gates to you i' th' 
morning ? Our honest husbands, they (silly men) 
lie praying in their beds now, that the water imder 


US may not be rough, the tilt that covers us may 
not be rent, and the straw about our feet may keep 
our pretty legs warm. I warrant they walk upon 
Queenhive, as Leander did for Hero, to watch 
for our landing ; and should we wrong such kind 
hearts ? would we might ever be troubled with the 
tooth-ache, then. 

Ten. This thing that makes fools of us thus, is 
my wife. [Knocks. 

Mist. Wafer. \ivithin\ Ay, ay, knock your bel- 
lies' full ; we hug one another a-bed, and lie laugh- 
ing till we tickle again, to remember how we sent 
you a bat-fowling. 

Wafer. An almond, parrot* ; that's my Mab's 
voice ; I know by the sound. 

* An almond, parrot.^ A proverbial expression : 
" An almo7i now for Parrot, delicately drest." 

Skelton's Speake Parrot. Imprynted at London 
by Jhon Day. Sig. A 2. 
" An Almonde for Parret, a Rope for Parret." 

Houghton's Englishmen for my money, 1616, 
Sig. G3. 
'* Here's an Almond for ParratP 

Dekker's Howe*!; Whore (jtart first),\m\, Sig. K. 
" A Parrot I am, but my teeth too tender to crack a wanton's 
Almond r 

Middleton and Rowley's Spanish Gipsie, 1653, Sig. C 3. 

" Men that want wit, yet have great place in state, 
He would have like to Parrots learne to prate 
Of others, till with Almonds they were fed." 

ScoVs Philomythie, 1622, Sig. A 5. 
An Almond for a Parrat, n.d., attributed to Nash, is a me- 


Just. 'Sfoot, you ha' spoiled half already, and 
you '11 spoil all, if you dam not up your mouths, 
Villany ! nothing but villany ! I 'm afraid they 
have smelt your breaths at the key-hole, and now 
they set you to catch flounders, whilst in the mean- 
time the concupiscentious malefactors make 'em 
ready, and take London napping. 

All Three. I '11 not be gulled so. 

Ten. Shew yourselves to be men, and break 
open doors. 

Just. Break open doors and shew yourselves to 
be beasts I If you break open doors your wives may 
lay flat burglary to your charge. 

Honey. Lay a pudding : burglary ! 

Just. Will you, then, turn Corydons * because 
you are among clowns ? Shall it be said you have 
no brains, being in Brainford ? 

All Three. Master Parenthesis, we will enter and 
set upon *em. 

Just. Well, do so ; but enter not so that all the 
country may cry shame of your doings ; knock 'era 
down, burst open Erebus, and bring an old house 
over your heads, if you do. 

morable production ; and one of the poems of the indefatigable 
Wither is called Amygdala Britunnica, Almonds fur /'arrets, 

* Cortjdons.l " The name of this unfortunate shepherd of 
Virgil [Corydon] seems to have suggested to our old writers a 
certain mixture of rusticity and folly." 

Gifford's Note on Ben Jonson's Works, vol. i. p. 40, 


Wafer. No matter, we '11 bear it off with head 
and shoulders. [Knocks. 

Mist. Wafer, [ivithin] You cannot enter in- 
deed, la. [looks ou(\ God 's my pittikin, our three 
husbands summon a parley : let that long old wo- 
man either creep under the bed, or else stand up- 
right behind the painted cloth. [Disappears. 

Wafer. Do you hear, you Mabel ? 

Mist. Wafer, [looking ouf] Let 's never hide 
our heads now, for we are discovered. 


Honey. But all this while my Honeysuckle ap- 
pears not. 

Jtjst. Why then two of them have pitched their 
tents there, and yours lies in ambuscade with your 
enemy there. 

Honey. Stand upon your guard there, whilst I 
batter here. [Knocks. 

MoN. [withi7i\ Who 's there ? 

Just. Hold, I '11 speak in a small voice, like one 
of the women. Here 's a friend : are you up ? rise, 
rise ; stir, stir. 

MoN. [withiTi] Uds foot, what weasel are you ? 
are you going to catch quails, that you bring your 
pipes with you ? I '11 see what troubled ghost it is 
that cannot sleep. [Looks out. 

Ten. O, Master Monopoly, God save you. 

MoN. Amen, for the last time I saw you the 
devil was at mine elbow in buff. What ! three 


meny men, and three merry men, and three merry 
men* be we, too. 

Hon. How does my wife, Master Monopoly ? 

MoN. Who ? my overthwartt neighbour ? pass- 
ing well : this is kindly done : Sir Gosling is not far 
from you ; we '11 join our armies presently ; here be 
rare fields to walk in. Captain, rise ; Captain 
Linstock, bestir your stumps, for the Philistines 
are upon us. [Disappears. 

Ten. This Monopoly is an arrant knave, a cog- 
ging knave, for all he 's a courtier ; if Monopoly 
be suffered to ride up and down with other men's 
wivesy he '11 undo both city and country. 

Enter Mistress Tenterhook, Mistress Honey- 
suckle, and Mistress Wafer. 

Just. Moll, mask thyself ; they shall not know 

,. ' __ ' f How now, sweethearts, what 
Mist. Honey. > , ,0 

,, -.^^ V make you here : 

Mist. Wafer. J ^ 

Wafer. N ..t that wliich you make here. 

* three merry men, and three merry men, (^-c] A fragment of 
an old song. See my edition of Peele's works, vol. i. p. 208, 
sec. ed ; and the notes of the commentators on Shakespeare's 
Twelfth Night, act. ii. so. 3. 

* overtkwart.'] Generally used for cross, contradictious — but 
here it seems merely to mean opposite, as in The Merry Devill of 
E(lmo>iton,l626 : '- Body of Saint George, this is mine overtkwart 
neighbour hath done this." Sig. F 2. 


Ten. Marry, you make bulls of your husbands. 

Mist. Ten. Buzzards, do we not ? out, you yellow 
infirmities ! do all flowers shew in your eyes like 
columbines ? 

Wafer. Wife, what says the collier ? is not thy 
soul blacker than his coals ? how does the child l 
how does my flesh and blood, wife ? 

Mist. Wafer, Your flesh and blood is very well 
recovered now, mouse. 

Wafer. I know 'tis : the collier has a sack-full of 
news to empty. 

Ten, Clare, where be your two rings with dia- 
monds ? 

Mist. Ten. At hand, sir, here, with a wet fin- 

Ten. I dreamed you had lost 'em. What a pro- 
fane varlet is this shoulder-clapper, to lie thus 
upon my wife and her rings ! 

Enter Monopoly, Whirlpool, and Linstock. 

MON. ] 

Whirl, r Save you, gentlemen. 
Lin. J 
Ten. ^ 

Honey. I And you, and our wives from you. 

MoN. Your wives have saved themselves, for 

Ten. Master Monopoly, though I meet you in 


High Germany, I hope you can understand broken 
English ; have you discharged your debt ? 

MoN. Yes, Sir, with a double charge ; your 
harpy that set his ten commandments upon my 
back, had two diamonds, to save him harmless. 

Ten. Of you, sir ? 

MoN. Me, sir ! do you think there be no diamond 
courtiers ? 

Ten. Sergeant Ambush, issue forth. 

Enter Ambush. 

Monopoly, I '11 cut off your convoy. Master Ser- 
geant Ambush, I charge you, as you hope to receive 
comfort from the smell of mace, speak not like a 
sergeant, but deal honestly : of whom had you the 
diamonds ? 

Amb. Of your wife, sir, if I 'm an honest man. 

Mist. Ten. Of me, you pewter- buttoned rascal ! 

MoN. Sirrah, you that live by nothing but the 
carrion of poultry ! 

Mist. Ten. Schoolmaster, hark hither. 

MoN. Where are my gems and precious stones, 
that were my bail ? 

Amb. Forthcoming, sir, though your money is 
not ; your creditor has 'em. 

Just. Excellent ! peace. Why, Master Tenter- 
hook, if the diamonds be of th e reported value, I '11 
pay your money, receive 'em, keep 'em till Master 
Monopoly be fatter i' th' purse: for, Master Mono- 


poly, I know you will not be long empty, Master 

Mist. Ten. Let him have 'em, good Tenterhook ; 
where are they ? 

Ten. At home ; I locked 'em up. 

Enter BiKD LIME. 

Bird, No, indeed, forsooth, I locked 'em up, and 
those are they your wife has, and those are they 
your husband, like a bad liver as he is, would have 
given to a niece of mine, that lies in my house to 
take physic, to have committed fleshly treason with 

Ten. I at your house ! you old 

Bird. You, perdy, and that honest bachelor: 
never call me old for the matter. 

Mist. Honey. Motherly woman, he's my husband, 
and no bachelor's buttons are at his doublet. 

Bird. 'Las, I speak innocently ; and that lean 
gentleman set in his staiF there. But, as I 'm a 
sinner, both T and the young woman had an eye to 
the main chance, and though they brought more 
about 'em than Captain Ca'ndish's voyage* came to, 

* Captain Ca'ndish's vot/affe.'\ The name of Thomas Caven- 
dish ( — who, sailing from Plymouth in 1586, with three insignifi- 
cant vessels, plundered the coast of New Spain and Peru, cap- 
tured, otf California, a Spanish admiral of seven hundred tons, 
and having circumnavigated the globe, returned to England with 
a very large fortune, in 1588 — ) is frequently abbreviated by our 


they should not, nor could not, unless I had been a 
naughty woman, have entered the straits. 

Mist. Ten. ^ 

Mist. Honey. C Have we smelt you out, foxes ? 

Mist. Wafer. 3 

Mist. Ten. Do you come after us with hue and 
cry, when you are the thieves yourselves ? 

Mist. Honey. Murder, 1 see, cannot be hid ; but 
if this old sibyl of yours speak oracles, for my part, 
I 'U be like an almanack that threatens nothing but 
foul weather. 

Ten. That bawd has been damned five hundred 
times, and is her word to be taken ? 

Just. To be damned once is enough for any one 
of her coat. 

Bird. Why, sir, what is my coat, that you sit 
thus upon my skirts ? 

Just. Thy coat is an ancient coat ; one of the 
seven deadly sins put thy coat first to making : but 
do you hear ? you mother of iniquity ! you that can 
lose and find your ears when you list ! go, sail with 

old writers : so Brome ; 

" Ca'ndish and Hawkins, Furbisher, all our voyagers, 
Went short of Mandevile." 

The Antipodes, 1640, Sig. C 3. 

This contraction is scarce yet out of use ; 

" When Chatsworth tastes no Ca'ndish bounties, 
Let fame forget this costly countess." 

Epitaph by Horace Walpule, in his Letters to Mon- 
tagu, p. 207. 


the rest of your bawdy-traffickers to the place of 
sixpenny sinfulness, the suburbs. 

Bird. I scorn the sinfulness of any suburbs in 
Christendom : 'tis well known I have up-risers and 
down-liers within the city, night by night, like a 
profane fellow as thou art. 

Just. Right, I know thou hast. I 'U tell 
you, gentlefolks, there 's more resort to this for- 
tune-teller, than of forlorn wives married to old 
husbands, and of green-sickness M'enches that can 
get no husbands, to the house of a wise woman : 
she has tricks to keep a vaulting house under the 
law's nose. 

Bird. Thou dost the law's nose wrong to belie 
me so. 

Just. For either a cunning woman has a chamber 
in her house, or a physician, or a picture maker, or 
an attorney, because all these are good cloaks for 
the rain. And then, if the female party that 's 
cliented above stairs be young, she 's a squire's 
daughter of low degree, that lies there for physic, or 
comes up to be placed with a countess ; if of middle 
age, she 's a widow, and has suits at the term or so. 

Mist. Honey. O, fie upon her ! burn the witch 
out of our company. 

Mist. Ten. Let 's hem her out of Bi'ainford if 
she get not the faster to London. 

Mist. Wafer. O, no, for God's sake ; rather hem 
her out of London, and let her keep in Brainford 


Bird. No, you cannot hem me out of London. 
Had I known this, your rings should ha' been poxed 
ere I would ha' touched 'em. I will take a pair of 
oars and leave you. \_Exit, 

Just. Let that ruin of intemperance be raked up 
in dust and ashes. And now tell me, if you had 
raised the town, had not the tiles tumbled upon your 
heads ? for you see your wives are chaste, these 
gentlemen civil ; all is but a merriment, all but a 
May-game : she has her diamonds, you shall have 
your money ; the cliild is recovered, the false col- 
lier discovered ; they came to Brainford to be merry, 
you were caught in Bird-lime, and therefore set the 
hare's-head against the goose-giblets*, put all in- 
struments in tune, and every husband play music 
upon the lips of his wife, whilst I begin first. 

Ten. 1 

Hon. V Come, wenches ; be 't so. 

Wafeu. J 

Mist. Ten. Mistress Justiniano, is 't you were 
ashamed all this while of showing your face ? Is 
she your wife, schoolmaster ? 

* set the hare's head against the goose giblelsj] A proverbial 
expression, signifying to balance things, to set one against an- 
other : compare Field's Amends for Ladies, Sig. B 3, ed. 1639 
and Middleton's A trick to catch the old one, 1608. Sig. G 2. 
Sometimes it occurs with a slight variation : " set the Hare Pye 
against the Goose giblets." Rowley's Match at Midnight. 1633, 
Sig. I 2. " Ide set mine olde debts against my new driblets, and 
the hare's yoo/ against the goose giblets." Dekker's Shoemakers 
Ho.'idnij, 1600, Sig. C. 

K ■> 


Just. Look you, your schoolmaster has been in 
France, and lost his hair * ; no more Parenthesis 
now, but Justiniano : I will now play the merchant 
with you. Look not strange at her, nor at me ; the 
story of us both shall be as good as an old wife's 
tale, to cut oflF our way to London. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

How now ? 

Cham. Alas, sir ! the knight yonder, Sir Gosling, 
has almost his throat cut by poulterers, and towns- 
men, and rascals ; and all the noise that went with 
him, poor fellows, have their fiddle-cases pulled over 
their ears. 

Omnes. Is Sir Gosling hurt ? 

Cham. Not much hurt, sir ; but he bleeds like a 
pig, for his crown 's cracked. 

Mist. Honey. Then has he been twice cut i' th' 
head since we landed, once with a pottle-pot, and 
now with old iron. 

Just. Gentlemen, hasten to his rescue some, 
whilst others call for oars. 

Omnes. Away, then, to London. 

Just. Farewell, Brainford. 
Gold that buys health can never be ill spent. 
Nor hours laid out in harmless merriment. 

* Look you, your sckoo'masfer has been in France, and lost 
his hairJ] Here we must suppose Justiniano to pull off the false 
hair which assisted his disguise : he alludes to the effects of 
the venereal, or, as it was called, the French disease. 



Oars, oars, oars, oars ! 

To London hay, to London hay ; 

Hoist up sails, and let's away ; 

For the safest bay 
For us to land is London shores. 
Oars, oars, oars, oars ! 
Quickly shall we get to land, 
If you, if you, if you 
Lend us but half a hand ; 
O, lend us half a hand ! 

\_Exeunt om/ies. 


North-ward Hoe. Sundry times Acted by the Children of 
Patties. By Thomas Decker, and John IVebster. Imprinted 
at London by G. Eld. 1607. 4lo. 

Concerning the origin of the title of this comedy, see the 
prefatory remarks to the preceding play. 



Hans Van Belch. 

Captain Jenkins. 

Musician, Sergeants, Keepers, Fiddlers, 
Tapsters, Servants. 

Mistress Mayberry. 







Enler Llke Greenshield, ivilh Featherstone, 

Feath. Art sure old Mayberry inns here to- 
night ? 

Green. 'Tis certain ; the honest knave Cham- 
berlain, that hath been my informer, my bawd, ever 
since I knew Ware, assures me of it : and more, 
being a Londoner, though altogether unacquainted, 
I have requested his company at supper. 

Feath. Excellent occasion I how we shall carry 
ourselves in this business is only to be thought upon. 

Green. Be that my undertaking : if I do not take 
a full revenge of his wife's puritanical coyness ! 

Feath. Suppose it she should be chaste. 

Green. O, hang her ! this art of seeming honest 
makes many of our young sons and heirs in the city 
look so like our 'prentices. Chamberlain ! 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Cham. Here, sir. 

Green. This honest knave is called Innocence ; 
is 't not a good name for a chamberlain ? He dwelt 
at Dunstable not long since, and hath brought me 


and the two butcher's daughters there to interview 
twenty times, and not so little, I protest. How 
chance you left Dunstable, sirrah ? 

Cham. Faith, sir, the town drooped ever since the 
peace in Ireland. Your captains were wont to take 
their leaves of their London pole-cats, (their wenches 
I mean, sir,) at Dunstable ; the next morning, when 
they had broke their fast together, the wenches 
brought them to Hockley-i'-th'-Hole ; and so the 
one for London, the other for West-Chester*- 
Your only road now, sir, is York, York, sir. 

Green. True, but yet it comes scant of the pro- 
phecy, Lincoln was, London is, and York shall be. 

Cham. Yes, sir, 'tis fulfilled ; York shall be, that 
is, it shall be York still ; surely it was the meaning 
of the prophet. Will you have some cray-fish, and 
a spitchcock ? 

Enter Mayberry, xolth Bellamont. 
Feath. And a fat trout. 

* West-Chester. "^ On their way to Ireland: "My refuge is 
Ireland or Virgitiia ; necessity cries out, and I will presently to 
JVestchester:' — Cook's Green's Tu Quoque, Sig. B, ed. 1622. 
" Hee came into Ireland., where at Dubblin hee wa-s strucke lame ; 
but recovering new strength and courage, hee ship'd hiraselfe for 
England, landed at West-Chester, whence taking poste towards 
Loudon, hee lodg'd at Hockley in the Hole, in his way," &c. 
Taylor's (the water poet's) Praise of deane Linnen, Works, 
1630, p. 170. It may perhaps be necessary to add, that the 
ancient city of Chester is called JVest Chester, from its relative 
situation, to distinguish it from several other towns which bear the 
name of Chester with some addition. 


Cham. You shall, sir. The Londoners you wot of. 

Green. Most kindly welcome : I beseech you hold 
our boldness excused, sir. 

Bell. Sir, it is the health of travellers to enjoy 
good company : will you walk ? 

Feath. Whither travel you, I beseech you ? 

May. To London, sir : we came from Sturbridge. 

Bell. I tell you, gentlemen, I have observed 
very much with being at Sturbridge * ; it hath af- 
forded me mirth beyond the length of five Latin 
comedies. Here should you meet a Norfolk yeoman, 
full-but, with his head able to overturn you, and his 
pretty \\'ife, that followed him, ready to excuse 
the ignorant hardness of her husband's forehead ; 
in the goose-market, number of freshmen, stuck 
here and there ^vith a graduate, like cloves with 

* / have observed very muck with bei7ig at Sturbridge.^ Stur. 
bridge fair, from which our two travellers are just come, is men- 
tioned by old Skelton ; 

" And silogisari was drowned at Sturbridge fayre." 

Speake Parrot, London, by Ihon Day, Sig. A 4. 
And it was resorted to both for business and pleasure long after 
the present play was produced. Ned Ward wrote a piece full of 
low humour, called A Step to Stir-Bitch Fair ; see the second 
vol. of his works, p. 248, ed. 1 706. The reader who is desirous 
of authentic information on such matters will find a long and 
curious account of Sturbridge fair in Defoe's Tour through 
Britain, vol. i. p. 83, et seq. : ed. 1742 : " it is not only," says 
he, " the greatest in the whole nation, but I think in Europe ; nor 
is the Fair at Leipsick in Saxony, the Mart at Frankfort on the 
Main, or the Fairs at Nuremberg or Augsburg, reputed any way 
comparable to this at Sturbridge." 


great heads in a gammon of bacon ; here two gen- 
tlemen making a marriage between their heirs over 
a woolpack ; there a minister's wife that could speak 
false Latin very lispingly ; here two in one corner 
of a shop, Londoners, selling their wares, and other 
gentlemen courting their wives ; where they take 
up petticoats, you should find scholars and town's - 
men's wives crowding together, while their hus- 
bands were in another market busy amongst the 
oxen, — 'twas like a camp, for in other countries so 
many punks do not follow an army : I could make 
an excellent description of it in a comedy. But 
whither are you travelling, gentlemen ? 

Feath. Faith, sir, we purposed a dangerous voy- 
age, but upon better consideration we altered our 

May. May we without offence partake the ground 
of it ? 

Green. 'Tis altogether trivial in sooth ; but to 
pass away the time till supper I '11 deliver it to you, 
with protestation before hand, I seek not to pub- 
lish every gentlewoman's dishonour, only by the 
passage of my discourse to have you censure the 
state of our quarrel. 

Bell. Forth, sir. 

Green. Frequenting the company of many mer- 
chants' wives in the city, my heart by chance leaped 
into mine eye to aflfect the fairest but withal the 
falsest creature that ever affection stooped to. 

Mat. Of what rank was she, I beseech you ? 


Feath. Upon your promise of secrecy ? 

Bell. You shall close it up like treasure of your 
own, and yourself shall keep the key of it. 

Green. She was, and by report still is, wife to 
a most grave and well-reputed citizen. 

May. And entertained your love ? 

Green. As meadows do April. The violence, as 
it seemed, of her affection — but, alas! it proved 
her dissembling — would, at my coming and de- 
parting, bedew her eyes with love-drops ; O, she 
could * the art of woman most feelingly ! 

Bell. Most feelingly ! 

Mat. I should not have liked that feelingly, had 
she been my wife. Give us some sack, here ; 
and in faith — we are all friends, and in private — 
what was her husband's name ? 1 11 give you a 
carouse, by and by. 

Green. O, you shall pardon me his name : it 
seems you are a citizen ; it would be discourse 
enough for you upon the Exchange this fortnight, 
should I tell his name. 

Bell. Your modesty in this wife's commenda- 
tion ! — On, sir. 

Green. In the passage of our loves, amongst 
other favours of greater value, she bestowed upon 
me this ling, which, she protested, was her hus- 
band's gift. 

May. The posy, the posy ! O my heart ! that 
ring ? good, in faith. 

* roii/d] i. e, knew, understood — pn-st. of the verb, can. 


Green. Not many nights coming to her, and 
being familiar with her 

May. Kissing, and so forth ? 

Green. Ay, sir. 

May. And talking to her feelingly ? 

Green. Pox on 't, I lay with her. 

May. Good, in faith, you are of a good com- 

Green. Lying with her, as I say, and rising some- 
what early from her in tlie morning, I lost this ring 
in her bed. 

May, In my wife's bed ! 

Feath. How do you, sir ? 

May. Nothing. — Let 's have a fire, chamberlain : 
I think my boots have taken water, I have such a 
shuddering. — I' th' bed, you say ? 

Green. Right, sir, in Mistress Mayberry's sheets. 

May. Was her name Mayberry ? 

Green. Beshrew my tongue for blabbing ! I pre- 
sume upon your secrecy. 

May. O God, sir ! but where did you find your 
losing ? 

Green. Where I found her falseness, — with this 
gentleman, who, by his own confession, partaking 
the like enjoyment, found this ring the same morn- 
ing on her pillow, and shamed not in my sight to 
wear it. 

May. What, did she talk feelingly to him, too ? 
I warrant her husband was forth a' town all this while, 
and he, poor man, travelled with hard eggs in's 


pocket, to save the charge of a bait ; whilst she 
was at home with her plovers, turkey, chickens. Do 
you know that Mayberry ? 

Feath. No more than by name. 

May. He 's a wondrous honest man. Let 's be 

merry. Will not your mistress — gentlemen, you 

are tenants in common, I take it ? 

Feath. 1 

c. \ Yes. 


May. Will not your mistress make much of her 
husband when he comes home, as if no such leger- 
demain had been acted ? 

Green. Yes, she hath reason for 't, for in 
some countries, where men and women have good 
travelling stomachs, they begin with porridge, then 
they fall to capon, or so forth, but if capon come 
short of fdling ' their bellies, to their porridge again, 
'tis their only course ; so for our women in Eng- 

May. This wit taking of long journies, kindred 
that comes in o'er the hatch, and sailing to West- 
minster, makes a number of cuckolds. 

Bell. Fie, what an idle quarrel is this: was this 
her ring ? 

Green. Her ring, sir. 

May. a pretty idle toy : would you would take 
money for 't. 

Feath. ) 

Green. 1 Money, sir ! 

May. The more I look on 't, the more I like it. 



Bell. Troth, 'tis of no great value ; and consi- 
dering the loss and finding of this ring made 
breach into your friendship, gentlemen, with this 
trifle purchase his love : I can tell you he keeps a 
good table. 

Green. What, my mistress' gift ! 

Feath. Faith, you are a merry old gentleman ; 
I '11 give you my part in 't. 

Green. Troth, and mine, with your promise to 
conceal it from her husband. 

May. Doth he know of it yet ? 

Green. No, sir. 

May. He shall never, then, I protest : look you, 
this ring doth fit me passing well. 

Feath. I am glad we have fitted you. 

May. This walking is wholesome : I was a cold 
even now, now I sweat for 't. 

Feath. Shall 's walk into the garden, Luke ?■ — 
Gentlemen, we '11 down and hasten supper. 

May. Look you, we must be better acquainted, 
that 's all. 

Green. Most willingly. — Excellent! he's heat to 
the proof : let 's withdraw, and give him leave to 
rave a little. 

^Exeunt Greenshield and Featherstone. 

May. Chamberlain, give us a clean towel. 

Enter Chamberlain. 

Bell. How now, man? 

May. I am foolish old Mayberry, and yet I can 


be wise Mayberry, too : I '11 to London presently. 
Begone, sir. [^Exit Chamberlain. 

Bell. How, how. 

May. Nay, nay, God's precious, you do mistake 
me, master Bellamont : I am not distempered ; for 
to know a man's wife is a whore, is to be resolved 
of it ; and to be resolved of it, is to make no ques- 
tion of it ; and when a case is out of question, — 
what was I saying ? 

Bell. Why, look you, what a distraction are you 
fallen into ! 

May. If a man be divorced, do you see, divorced 
forma juris, whether may he have an action or no, 
'gainst those that make horns at him ? 

Bell. O madness ! that the frailty of a woman 
should make a wise man thus idle ! Yet I protest, to 
my understanding, this report seems as far from 
truth, as you from patience. 

May. Then am I a fool ; yet I can be wise, and I 
list, too : what says my wedding ring ? 

Bell. Indeed that breeds some suspicion : for the 
rest, most gross and open ; for two men both to 
love your wife, both to enjoy her bed, and to meet 
you as if by miracle, and, not knowing you, upon no 
occasion in the world, to thrust upon you a dis- 
course of a quarrel, with circumstance so disho- 
nest, that not any gentleman but of the country 
blushing would have published, ay, and to name 
you. Do you know them ? 

L 2 

14S THmTBwxmD ho. 

Mat. 7 - I remember, I hare seen them 

:t vay sibap. 

/ : prar God tii^ do not bor- 
: Ware and Loaiaa. Come, 

Mat. kto 

I 11 be a wise tTE:: 

. sec, he 

NOItrilVVAlU) HO. 14d 

put one of 'em into my fingers, I '11 tickle the pim- 
ple-nosed varlets. 

Phil. Hold, Doll. — Thrust not a weapon upon a 
mad woman. Officers, step back into the tavern ; 
you might ha' ta'en me i' th' street, and not i' th' 
tavern entry, you cannibals. 

2 Serg. We did it for your credit, sir. 

Chart. How much is the debt ? Drawer, some 


Enter Drawer, ivilh wine. 

1 Surg. Fourscore pound : can you send for bail, 
sir i or what will you do ? we cannot stay. 

Doll. You cannot, you pasty-footed rascals ! you 
will stay one day in liell. 

PniL. Fourscore pounds draws deep. Farewell, 
Doll. Come, sergeants, I '11 step to mine uncle 
not far off, hereby in Pudding-lane, and he shall 
bail me ; if not, Chartley, you shall find me playing 
at span-counte r, and so farewell : send me som 

1 Serg. Have an eye to his hands. 

2 Serg. Have an eye to his legs. 

\_Exeunt Philip and Sergeants. 

DoLL. I 'm as melancholy now ! 

Chart. Villanous, spitefid luck! I '11 hold my 
life some of these saiicy drawers betrayed him. 

Draw. We, sir I no, by gad, sir, we scorn to have 
a Judas in our comi)any. 

* spnn-c(iiintcr.\ A pun is intended here : spancnuntfr being 
a c.oninion (»anie anion;; I'oys, counlcr, the prison, to which, it he 
roiilil prncuro no liail, Philip was to he consigned. 


Lever. No, no ; he was dogged in : this is the 
end of all dicing. 

Doll. This is the end of all whores, to fall into 
the hands of knaves. Drawer, tie my shoe, prithee ; 
the new knot, as thou seest this. Philip is a good 
honest gentleman : I love him because he '11 spend ; 
hut when I saw him on his father's hobby, and a 
brace of punks following him in a coach, I told him 
he would run out. Hast done, boy ? 

Draw. Yes, forsooth : by my troth you have a 
dainty leg. 

Doll. How now, goodman rogue ? 

Draw. Nay, sweet Mistress Doll. 

Doll. Doll I you reprobate •• out, you bawd for 
seven years by the custom of the city ! 

Draw. Good Mistress Dorothy, the pox take me 
if I touched your leg but to a good intent. 

Doll. Prate you ? the rotten-toothed rascal wll 
for sixpence fetch any whore to his master's cus- 
tomers : and is every one that swims in a taffata 
gown lettuce for your lips ? Ud's life, this is rare, 
that gentlewomen and drawers must suck at one 
spiggot. Do you laugh, you unseasonable puckfist * ? 
do you grin ? 

Chart. Away, drawer : hold, prithee, good rogue ; 
hold, my sweet Doll : a pox a' this swaggering. 

l^Exit Drawer. 

* puckjist.~\ This word, used often by our old writers in tlie 
sense of an empty, insignificant fellow, meant originally a sort of 
fungus : " all the sallets are tiirn'd to Jewe-^-ears, mushrooms, and 
FuckJkU.'" Heywood and Brome's Lancashire IViUhes, 1634. 
Sig. E 4. 


Doll. Pox a' your guts, your kidneys ; mew, 
hang ye, rook. I 'm as melancholy now as Fleet- 
street in a long vacation. 

Lever. Melancholy I come, we '11 ha' some mulled 

Doll. When begins the term? 

Chart. Why ? hast any suits to be tried at West- 
minster ? 

Doll. My suits, you base ruffian, have been tried 
at Westminster already. So soon as ever the term 
begins, I '11 change my lodging, it stands out a' the 
way ; I '11 lie about Charing-cross, for if there be 
any stirrings, there we shall have 'em : or if some 
Dutchman would come from the States — O, these 
Flemings pay soundly for what they take ! 

Lever. If thou 't have a lodging westward, Doll, 
I'll fit thee. 

Doll. At Tyburn, will you not ? a lodging of 
your providing ! to be called a lieutenant's or a cap- 
tain's wench ! O, I scorn to be one of your low- 
country commodities, I ! Is this body made to be 
maintained with provant and dead pay ? no ; the 
mercer must be paid, and satin gowns must beta'en 

Chart. And gallon pots must be tumbled down. 

Doll. Stay ; I have had a plot a breeding in my 
brains, — are all the Quest-houses broken up * ? 

* are all the Quest-houses broken up ?] About Christinas, I 
believe, the alilennen and citizens of each ward in the city, used 
to hold a Quest to inquire concerning misdemeanours and an- 


Lever. Yes, long since : what then ? 

Doll. What then ! marry, then is the wind come 
about, and for those poor wenches that before Christ- 
mas fled westward with bag and baggage come now 
sailing alongst the lee shore wth a northerly wind, 
and we that had warrants to lie without the liberties 
come now dropping into the freedom by owl-light 

Chart. But, Doll, Avhat 's the plot thou spakest 

Doll. Marry, this. Gentlemen and tobacco- 
stinkers, and such like, are still buzzing where 
sweet-meats are, like flies, but they make any flesh 
stink that they blow upon : I will leave those fel- 
lows, therefore, in the hands of their laundresses. 
Silver is the king's stamp, man God's stamp, and a 
woman is man's stamp ; we are not current till we 
pass from one man to another. 

Lever. ) .. , 

Chart, r^'-y^^^^- 

Doll. I will, therefore, take a fair house in the 
city ; no matter though it be a tavern that has blown 

noyances, brothels, &c. Quest-houses were the houses where the 
Quest was held, and which were generally the cliief watchhouses. 
Doll, in her nest speech, alludes to the shifts made by the ladies 
•when driven out of the city, and their private return when they 
no longer feared the Quest. 

From a passage in one of Middleton's plays it appears that 
gaming was sometimes carried on there : " Such a day I lost fifty 
pound in hugger-mugger at Dice at the Quest-house." Any thing 
for a quiet life, 1662, Sig. B'2. 


up his master ; it shall be in trade still, for I know 
divers taverns i' th' town that have hut a wall between 
them and a hot-house. It shall then be given out 
that I 'm a gentlewoman of such a birth, such a 
wealth, have had such a breeding, and so forth, and 
of such a carriage, and such qualities, and so forth : 
to set it off the better, old Jack Hornet shall take 
upon him to be my father. 

Lever. Excellent ! with a chain about his neck, 
and so forth. 

Doll. For that Saint Martin's and we will talk *. 
I know we shall have gudgeons bile presently ; if 
they do, boys, you shall live like knights' fellows : 
as occasion serves, you shall wear liveries and wait, 
but when gulls are my wind-falls, you shall be gen- 
tlemen and keep them company. Seek out Jack 
Hornet incontinently. 

Lever. We will. Come, Chartley. We '11 play 
our parts, I warrant. 

Doll. Do so. 
The world's a stage, from which strange shapes we 

borrow ; 
To-day we are honest, and rank knaves to-morrow. 


* with a chain about his neck .... for that Saint Martin''s 
and we will /«//<:.] So Brathwait : 

" By this hee travells to Saint Martins lane, 
And to the shops he goes to bin/ a chaine!" 

The Honest Ghost, &c. 1658, p. 167. 



Enter Mayberry, Bellamont, and a Prentice, 

May. Where is your mistress, villain ? when went 
she abroad ? 

Pren. Abroad, sir ! why, as soon as she was up, 

May. Up, sir, down, sir ! so, sir. Master Bella- 
mont, I will tell you a strange secret in nature ; 
this boy is my wife's bawd. 

Bell. O, fie, sir, fie ! the boy, he does not look 
like a bawd ; he has no double chin *. 

Pren. No, sir, nor my breath does not stink, I 
smell not of garlick or aqua-vitse ; I use not to 
be drunk with sack and sugar; I swear not, God 
damn me if I know Avhere the party is, when 't is 
a lie, and I do know : I was never carted, but in 
harvest : never whipt, but at school ; never had the 
grincomes t ; never sold one maidenhead ten several 
times, first to an Englishman, then to a Welchman, 

* double chin.'] The characteristick of a bawd, according to 
many of our old dramatists : 

"The bawds will be so fat with what they earne, 
Their chins will hang like udders, by Easter-eeve." 
Middleton's Chast 31ayd in Cheapside, 1630, Sig. D 3. 
-}■ grincomes.] Or crincomes, a cant term for the venereal dis- 
ease : " Grinkcomes," says Taylor, the water poet, "is an Uto- 
pian word, which is in EngUsh a P. at Paris." Works, 1630, 
p. 111. 



then to a Dutchman, then to a pocky Frenchman : 
I hope, sir, I am no bawd then. 

May. Thou art a baboon, and boldest me with 
tricks, whilst my wife grafts, grafts : away, trudge, 
run, search her out by land and by water. 

Pren. Well, sir, the land I' 11 ferret, and after 
tliat I '11 search her by water, for it may be she 's 
gone to Brainford. 

May. Inquire at one of mine aunts*. 

Bell. One of your aunts ? are you mad ? 

May. Yea, as many of the twelve companies are, 
troubled, troubled. \_Exit Prentice. 

Bell. I '11 chide you ; go to, I'll chide you 

May. O Master Bellamont ! 

Bell. O Master Mayberry ! before your servant 
to dance a Lancashire hornpipe ! it shews worse to 
me than dancing does to a deaf man that sees not 
the fiddles : 'sfoot, you talk like a player. 

May. If a player talk like a madman, or a fool, 
or an ass, and knows not what he talks, then I 'ra 
one. You are a poet, Master Bellamont ; I -will 
bestow a piece of plate upon you to bring my wife 
upon the stage : would not her humour please gen- 
tlemen ? 

Bell. I think it would : yours would make gen- 
tlemen as fat as fools. I would give two pieces of 

* aunts.'] Few readers of old plays require to be told that 
<iunl was a cant name for a bawd or prostitute. 


plate to have you stand by me when I were to write 
a jealous man's part- Jealous men are either 
knaves or coxcombs ; be you neither : you wear 
yellow hose without cause. 

May. "Without cause, when my mare bears double I 
without cause ! 

Bell. And without wit. 

May. When two virginal jacks* skip up, as the 
key of my instrument goes dovATi ! 

Bell. They are two wicked elders. 

May. When my wife's ring does smoke for 't. 

Bell. Your wife's ring may deceive you. 

May. O Master BeUamont ! had it not been my 
wife had made me a cuckold, it should never have 
grieved me. 

Bell. You wrong her, upon my soul. 

May. No, she wrongs me upon her body. 

Enter a Servingman. 

Bell. Now, bluet-bottle ? what flutter you for, 
sea-pie ? 

* virginal jacks. ^ A virginal was a kind of spinnet : "in awj'r- 
ffinal," says Bacon, " as soon as ever ihejack falleth, and touch- 
eth the string, the sound ceaseth." 
And Brathvvait ; 

" For, like to jacks mo\'d in a virginal, 
I thought ones rising was anothers fall." 

Honest Ghost, 1658, p. 128. 
t blue-hot tie. '\ Blue was the colour usually worn by servants 
of the time. 


Serv. Not to catch fish, sir: my j'oung' master, 
your son, Master Philip, is taken prisoner. 

Bell. By the Dunkirks ?* 

Serv. Worse; by catchpollst he's encountered. 

Bell. Shall I never see that prodigal come 

Serv. Yes, sir, if you '11 fetch him out, you may 
kill a calf for him. 

Bell. For how much lies he ? 

Serv. The debt is four-score pound : marry, he 
charged me to tell you it was four- score and ten, 
so that he lies only for the odd ten pound. 

Bell. His child's part J shall now be paid; this 
money shall be his last, and this vexation the last 
of mine. If you had such a son, Master Mayberry ! 

May. To such a wife ; 'twere an excellent couple. 

Bell. Release him, and release me of much sor- 
row ; I will buy a son no more ; go, redeem him. 

[Exit Servingman. 

* Dunkirks.^ i. e. privateers of Dunkirk, 
t bi/ catchpolls he 's encountered.'] So Sir John Harington; 
" Till at the last two Catch-poles him encounter-." 

Epigram 99, Book ii. 
:f His child's part.^ Compare Hey wood ; 
" But putst them [monies] to increase, where in short time 
They grow a child's part, or a daughter's portion." 

The Fair Maid 0/ the Exchange, 1637, Sig. D 3. 
And The famous history e of Thomas Stnhely, 1605 ; " Not so 
sick, sir, but T hope to have a child's part by your last will and 
testament." Sig. C 3. 


Enter Prentice and Mistress Mayberry. 

Pren. Here 's the party, sir. 

May. Hence, and lock fast the doors : now is my 

Pren. If she beat you not at your own weapon, 
would her buckler were cleft in two pieces. [Exit. 

Bell. I will not have you handle her too roughly. 

May. No, I will, like a justice of peace, grow to 
the point. Are not you a whore ? never start ; thou 
art a cloth-worker, and hast turned me — 

Mist. May. How, sir ? into what, sir, have I 
turned you ? 

May. Into a civil suit, into a sober beast, a land- 
rat, a cuckold : thou art a common bed-fellow ; art 
not, art not ? 

Mist. May. Sir, this language 
To me is strange, I understand it not. 

May. O, you study the French now ! 

Mist. May, Good sir, lend me patience. 

May. I made a sallad of that herb* : do'st see 
these flesh hooks ? I could tear out those false eyes, 
those cat's eyes, that can see in the night ; punk, 
I could. 

Bell. Hear her answer for herself. 

Mist. May. Good Master Bellamont, 
Let him not do me violence. Dear sir, 

* a sal/ad of that herb] Patience was the name of an herb : 
" you may recover it with a sallet of parsly, and the hearbe pa- 
tience.''' A pleasant enmmodie called Looke abnnt you, 1600, 
sig. C 3. 


Should any but yourself shoot out these names, 
I would put off all female modesty, 
To be reveng'd on him. 

May. Know'st thou this ring ? 
There has been old running at the ring since I 

Mist. May. Yes, sir, this ring is mine : he was 
a villain, 
That stole it from my hand ; he was a villain, 
That put it into yours. 

May, They were no villains. 
When they stood stoutly for me, took your part, 
And, 'stead of colours, fought under my sheets. 

Mist. May. I know not what you mean. 

May. They lay with thee : I mean plain dealing. 

Mist. May, With me ! if ever I had thought un- 
In detestation of your nuptial pillow, 
Let sulphur drop from heaven, and nail my body 
Dead to this earth ! That slave, that damned fury, 
Whose whips are in your tongue to torture me. 
Casting an eye unlawful on my cheek, 
Haunted your threshold daily, and threw forth 
All tempting baits which lust and credulous youth 
Apply to our frail sex ; but those being weak, 
The second siege he laid was in sweet words. 

May, And then the breach was made. 

Bell, Nay, nay, hear all. 

Mist. May. At last he takes me sitting at your 


Seizes my palm, and, by the charm of oaths 

Back to restore it straight, he won my liand 

To crown his finger with that hoop of gold. 

I did demand it, but he, mad with rage 

And with desires unbridled, fled, and vow'd 

That ring should me undo ; and now belike 

His spells have wrought on you : but I beseech you 

To dare him to my face, and in mean time 

Deny me bed-room, drive me from your board, 

Disgrace me in the habit of your slave, 

Lodge me in some discomfortable vault, 

Where neither sun nor moon may touch my sight, 

Till of this slander I my soul acquite. 

Bell. Guiltless, upon my soul. 

May. Troth, so think 1. 
I now draw in your bow, as I before 
Supposed they drew in mine : my stream of jealousy 
Ebbs back again, and I that like a horse 
Ran blind- fold in a mill, all in one circle. 
Yet thought I had gone fore-right, now spy my 

Villains, you have abus'd me, and I vow 
Sharp vengeance on your heads. Drive in your 

tears ; 
I take your word y' are honest, which good men, 
Very good men, will scarce do to their wives. 
I will bring home these serpents, and allow them 
The heat of mine own bosom : wife, I charge you. 
Set out your haviours towards them in such colours 
As if you had been their whore ; I '11 have it so. 


I '11 candy o'ei* my words, and sleek my brow, 
Entreat 'em that they would not point at me, 
Nor mock my horns : Avith this arm I '11 embrace 

And with this go to ! 

Mist. Mat. O, we shall have murder ! you kill 

my heart. 
May. No, I will shed no blood ; 
But I will be revengd : they that do wrong- 
Teach others way to right. I '11 fetch my blow 
Fair and afar off, and, as fencers use, 
Though at the foot I strike, the head I '11 bruise. 
Bell. I '11 join with you : let "s walk — O, here 's 
my son ! 

Enter Philip arid Servingman. 

Welcome ashore, sir : from whence come you, 
pray ? 

Phil. From the house of prayer and fasting, the 

Bkll. Art not thou ashamed to be seen come out 
of a prison ? 

Phil. No, God's my judge ; l)ut I was ashamed 
to go into prison. 

Bell. I am told, sir, that you spend j^our credit 
and your coin upon a light woman. 

Phil. I ha' seen light gold, sir, pass away amongst 

Bell. And that you have laid thirty or forty 


162 northwaud ho. 

pounds upon her back in taffata gowns, and silk 

Phil. None but tailors will say so : I ne'er laid 
anything upon her back. I confess I took up a pet- 
ticoat and a raised fore-part for her ; but who has to 
do with that ? 

May. Marry, that has everybody, Master Philip. 

Bell. Leave her company, or leave me, for she 's 
a woman of an ill name. 

Phil. Her name is Dorotliy, sir ; I hope that 's 
no ill name. 

Bell. What is she ? what wilt thou do with her ? 

May. 'Sblood, sir, what does he with her !* 

Bell. Do'st mean to marry her ? of what birth 
is she ? what are her comings in ? what does she 
live upon ? 

Phil, Rents, sir, rentst, she lives upon her 
rents, and I can have her. 

Bell. You can ? 

Phil. Nay, father, if destiny dog me, I must 
liave her. You have often told me the nine muses 
are all women, and you deal with them : may not I 
the better be allowed one than you so many ? Look 
you, sir, the northern man loves white-meats, the 
southery man sallads, the Essex man a calf, the 

* The old copy gives this speech to Philip. 

f Rents, sir, rents, &c.] The reader who is curious in pa- 
rallel passages may turn to Middleton's Blurt Master Constable, 
1602, sig. D4. 


Kentish man a wag-tail, the Lancashire man an 
egg-pie, the Welchman leeks and cheese, and your 
Londoners raw mutton ; so, father, God b' ye, I 
was born in London. 

BelIi. Stay, look you, sir : as he that lives upon 
saUads without mutton feeds like an ox, (for he eats 
grass, you know,) yet rises as hungry as an ass ; 
and as he that makes a dinner of leeks will have lean 
cheeks : so thou, foolish Londoner, if nothing but 
raw mutton can diet thee, look to live like a fool 
and a slave, and to die like a beggar and a knave. 
Come, Master Mayberry. Farewell, boy. 

Phil. Farewell, father snot*. Sir, if I have her 

I '11 spend more in mustard and vinegar in a year 

than both you in beef. 

Bell. ") 

^ j More saucy knave thou. [Exeunt. 

* Farewell, father snot.'\ This elegant valediction (after 
which, in the old copy, is a short break) was, perhaps, a parody 
on, or a quotation from, some song : in The Wit of a Woman, 
1604, I find, 

" My bush and my pot 
Cares not a groate 
For such a lob-coate, 
Farewell Sitiior snotT — Sig. G 3. 

M 2 



Enter Hornet, Doll ; Leverpool and Chartley, 
like Servingmen.. 

Hor. Am I like a fiddler's base viol, new set up, 
in a good case, boys ? is 't neat, is it terse ? am I 
handsome, ha ? 

Omnes. Admirable, excellent ! 

Doll. An under slieriff cannot cover a knave 
more cunningly. 

Lever. 'Sfoot, if he should come before a church- 
warden, he would make him pew-fellow with a 
lord's steward at least. 

Hor. If I had but a staff in my hand, fools would 
think I were one of Simon and Jude's gentlemen 
ushers, and that my apparel were hired. They say 
three tailors goto the making up of a man, but I 'm 
sure I had four tailors and a half went to the making 
of me thus : this suit, though it ha' been canvassed 
well, yet 'tis no law suit, for 'twas despatched 
sooner than a posset on a wedding night. 

Doll. Why, I tell thee. Jack Hornet, if the 
devil and all the brokers in Long-lane had rifled 
their wardrobe, they would ha' been damned before 
they had fitted thee thus. 

HoR. Punk, I shall be a simple father for you. 
How does my chain show now I walk ? 


Doll. If thou wert hung in chains, thou couldst 
not show better. 

Chart. But how sit our blue coats on our backs? 

Doll. As they do upon bankrout retainers' 
backs at Saint George's feast in London : but at 
Westminster, it makes 'em scorn the badge of their 
occupation : there the bragging velure-canioned* 

* velure-canioned.^ Velure is velvet. 

" Cannions, of breeches. G. canons ; on les appele ainsi 
pource qu'ils sent aucunement semblables aux canons d'artillerie, 
— ^because they are like cannons of artillery, or cans or pots." — 
Minsheu's Guide into the tongues, p. 61, ed. 1617. 

Strutt explains canions io be " ornamental tubes or tags at the 
ends of the ribbands and laces, which were attached to the ex- 
tremities of the breeches." — Dress and Habits, &c., vol 11. p.2C3. 

Canon hose, decorated at the knees with a quantity of ribbons, 
were fashionable in the time of Charles the Second. 

In a MS. copy of a comedy called The Hmnourous Lovers, by 
the Duke of Newcastle, among the Harleian MSS., 7367, the 
following song (not given in the printed copy of the play, 1677,) 
occurs at the beginning of the 4th act ; 

" I conjure thee, I conjure thee, 
■ P By the Ribands in thy Hatt, 

By thy pritty lac'd Cravat, 
By the Ribands round thy Bum, 
Which is brac'd much like a Drum, 
By thy dangling Pantaloons, 
And thy ruflBing Port Cannons, 
By thy freezeld Perriwige, 
Which does make thee look so bigg, 
Uy thy Sword of Sliver gulll, 
And the Riband at thy liUt. 
Apeare, apear." 


hobby-horses prance up and down, as if some a' the 
tilters had ridden 'em. 

HoR. Nay, 'sfoot, if they be bankrouts, 'tis like 
some have ridden 'em ; and thereupon the citizen's 
proverb rises, when he says, he trusts to a broken 

Doll. Hornet, now you play my father, take 
heed you be not out of your part, and shame your 
adopted daughter. 

HoR. I will look gravely, Doll, ( — do you see, 
boys ? — ) like the foreman of a jury, and speak 
wisely, like a Latin schoolmaster, and be surly and 
dogged and proud, like the keeper of a prison. 

Lever. You must lie horribly, when you talk of 
your lands. 

Hor. No shopkeeper shall outlie me, nay, no 
fencer : when I hem, boys, you shall duck ; when 
I cough and spit gobbets, Doll • 

Doll. The pox shall be in your lungs. Hornet. 

Hor. No, Doll; these \\'ith their high shoes 
shall tread me out. 

Doll. All the lessons that I ha' pricked out for 
'em is, when the weathercock of my body turns to- 
wards them, to stand bare. 

Hor. And not to be saucy, as servingmen are. 

Chart. Come, come, we are no such creatures 
as you take us for. 

Doll. If we have but good di'aughts in my peter 
boat, fresh salmon, you sweet villains, shall be no 
meat with us. 


HoR. 'Sfoot, nothing moves my choler but that 
my chain is copper ; but 'tis no matter, better men 
than old Jack Hornet have rode up Holborn with 
as bad a thing about their necks as this : your right 
w'hiffler* indeed hangs himself in Saint Martin'st, 
and not in Cheapside. 

Doll. Peace, somebody rings : run both, whilst 
he has the rope in 's hand ; if it be a prize, hale him, 
jf a man a' war, blow him up, or hang him out at 
the main-yard's end. 

[^Exeunt Leiwrpool and Chartley. 

HoR. But what ghosts, ( — hold up, my fine 
girl, — ) what ghosts hauntj thy house ? 

Doll. O, why, divers. I have a clothier's factor 
or two, a grocer that would fain pepper me, a 
Welch captain that lays hard siege, a Dutch mer- 
chant that would spend all that he 's able to make i' 
th' Low Countries but to take measure of my Hol- 
land sheets when I lie in 'em — I hear trampling ; 
'tis my Flemish hoy. 

Enter Leverpool, Chartley, and Hans Van 

Hans. Dar is vor you, and vor you, een, twea. 
drie, vier, and vive skiUing, drinks skellum upsie 
freese, nempt dats v drinck gelt. 

" whijDler.'\ See note *, p. 119. 

f Saint Martin's.^ See note *, p. 133. 

t kuunf.] Tlie old copy, " haunts." 


Lever. Till our crowns crack again, Master 
Hans Van Belch. 

Hans. How is 't met you, how is 't, vro ? vrolick ? 

Doll. Ick vare well, God danke you : nay, I 'm 
an apt scholar, and can take. 

Hans. Datt is good ; dott is good. Ick can neet 
stay long, for Ick heb en skip come now upon de 
vater. O mine schoomen vro, we sail dance lan- 
teera teera, and sing Ick brincks to you min here 
van. Wat man is dat, vro ? 

HoR. Nay, pray, sir, on. 

Hans. Wat bonds foot is dat, Dorothy ? 

Doll. 'T is my father. 

Hans. Gott's sacrament, your vader ! why sey- 
ghen you niet so to me ? Mine heart 't is mine all 
great desire to call you mine vader ta, for Ick love 
dis schonen vro your dochterkin. 

HoR. Sir, you are welcome in the way of ho- 

Hans. Ick bedanck you : Ick heb so ghe founden 

Hor. What 's your name, I pray? 

Hans. Mun nom bin Hans Van Belch. 

Hor. Hans Van Belch I 

Hans. Yau, yau, 't is so, 't is so ; de dronken man 
is alteet remenber me. 

HoR. Do you play the merchant, son Belch ? 

Hans. Yau, vader, Ick heb de skip swim now 
upon de vater: if you endouty, go up in de little 
skip dat go so, and be pulled up to Wapping. Ick 


sail bear you on my back, and hang you about min 
neck into min groet skip. 

HoR. He says, Doll, he would have thee to Wap- 
ping, and hang thee. 

Doll. No, father, I understand him : but, Master 
Hans, I would not be seen hanging about any man's 
neck, to be counted his jewel, for any gold. 

HoR. Is your father li"\ing. Master Hans ? 

Hans. Yau, yau, min vader heb schonen husen in 
Ausburgh ; groet mine heare is mine vader's broder ; 
mine vader heb land, and bin full of fee, dat is, 
beasts, cattle. 

Chart. He 's lousy, belike. 

Hans. Min vader bin de grotest fooker in all 

Doll. The greatest what ? 

Lever. Fooker, he says. 

Doll. Out upon him. 

Hans. Yau, yau, fooker is en groet min here, 
he 's en elderman vane city. Got's sacrament, vvat 
is de clock ? Ick met stay. 

HoR. Call his watch before you, if you can. 

{A watch. 

Doll. Here 's a pretty thing I do these wheels 
spin up the hours ? what 's a clock ? 

Hans. Acht, yau, 't is acht. 

Doll. We can hear neither clock nor jack going ; 
we dwell in such a place, that I fear I shall never 
find the way to church, because the bells hang so 


far : such a watch as this would make me go down 
with the lamb and be up with the lark. 

Hans. Seghen you so, dor it to. 

Doll. O, fie, I do but jest, for in truth I could 
never abide a watch. 

Hans. Gott's sacrament, Ick niet heb it any 

\_BeU ring^ : exeunt Leverpool and Chartley. 

Doll. Another peal ! Good father, launch out this 

HoR. Come, Master Belch, I will bring you to 
the water-side, perhaps to Wapping, and there I '11 
leave you. 

Hans. Ick bedanck you, vader. 

[Exeunt Hans Van Belch and Hornet. 

Doll. They say whores and bawds go by clocks, 
but what a Manasses is this to buy twelve hours so 
dearly, and then be begged out of 'em so easily ! 
He '11 be out at heels shortly sure, for he 's out 
about the clocks already. O foolish young man, 
how doest thou spend thy time ! 

Enter LEVERPooL^^r^i, then Allum and Chartley. 

Lever, Your grocer. 

Doll. Nay, 'sfoot, then I '11 change my tune. — 
I may cause such leaden-heeled rascals — Out of my 
sight ! — ^A knife, a knife, I say ! — O, Master Al- 
lum, if you love a M'oman, draw out your knife, and 
undo me, undo me ! 


All, Sweet Mistress Dorothy, what should you 
do with a knife ? it 's ill meddling with edge tools. 
What's the matter, masters ? Knife ! God bless us. 

Lever. 'Sfoot, Avhat tricks at noddy * are these ? 

Doll. O, I shall burst, if I cut not my lace, I 'm 
so vext ! My father he 's rid to court on was about 
a matter of a thousand pound weight : and one of 
his men, like a rogue as he is, is rid another way for 
rents ; I looked to have had him up yesterday, and 
up to day, and yet he shows not his head ; sure he 's 
run away, or robbed and run thorough. And here 
was a scrivener but even now, to put my father in 
mind of a bond that will be forfeit this night, if the 
money be not paid. Master Allum. Such cross 
fortune I 

All. How much is the bond ? 

Chart. O rare little villain ! 

Doll. My father could take up, upon the bareness 
of his word, five hundred pound, and five too. 

All. What is the debt ? 

Doll. But he scorns to be — and I scorn to be — 

All. Prithee, sweet Mistress Dorothy, vex not ; 
how much is it ? 

Doll. Alas, Master Allum, 't is but poor fifty 
pound ! 

* tricks at noddy^ Leverpool plays on the double meaning of 
the word noddy, which signifies both a game at cards (see note*, 
p. 75,) and a fool ; so in The Returne from Pernassus, 1606 ; 
" Gentlemen, you that can play at noddy, or rather play upon 
nodies." Sig, A 2. 


All. If that be all, you shall upon your word 
take up so much with me : another time I '11 run as 
far in your books. 

Doll. Sir, I know not how to repay this kindness ; 
but when my father — 

All. Tush, tush, 't is not worth the talking : just 
fifty pound ! when is it to be paid ? 

Doll. Between one and two. 

Lever. That 's we three. 

All. Let one of your men go along, and I' 11 send 
your fifty pound. 

Doll. You so bind me, sir ! — Go, sirrah [_to 
Leverpool.'] — Master AUum, I ha' some quinces 
brought from our house i' th' country to preserve : 
when shall we have any good sugar come over ? 
The wars in Barbary make sugar at such an exces- 
sive rate, you pay sweetly now I warrant, sir, do 
you not ? 

All. You shall have a wliole chest of sugar, if 
you please. 

Doll. Nay, by my faith, four or five loaves will 
be enough, and I '11 pay you at my first child, Mas- 
ter AUum. 

All. Content, i' faith ; your man shall bring all 
under one. I '11 borrow a kiss of you at parting. 

Enter Captain Jenkins. 

Doll. You shall, sir ; I borrow more of you. 

\_Exeunt AUum and Leverpool. 
Chart. Save you, captain. 


Doll. Welcome, good Captain Jenkins. 

Capt. Jen. What, is he a barber- surgeon, that 
drest your lips so ? 

Doll. A barber ! he 's my tailor : I bid him mea- 
sure how high he would make the standing collar 
of my new tafFata gown before, and he, as tailors 
will be saucy and lickerish, laid me o'er the lips. 

Capt. Jen. Uds blood, I '11 lay him 'cross upon 
his coxcomb next day. 

Doll. You know 't is not for a gentlewoman to 
stand with a knave for a small matter, and so I 
would not strive with him, only to be rid of him. 

Capt. Jen. If I take master prick- louse ramping 
so high again, by this iron, which is none a' God's 
angel *, I '11 make him know how to kiss your blind 
cheeks sooner. Mistress Dorothy Hornet, I would 
not have you be a hornet to lick at cowsherds, but 
to sting such shreds of rascality: will you sing A 
tailor shall have me, my joy ? 

Doll. Captain, I'll be led by you in any thing : 
a tailor, fob ! 

Capt. Jen. Of what stature or size have you a 
stomach to have your husband now ? 

Doll. Of the meanest stature, captain ; not a size 
longer than yourself nor shorter. 

Capt. Jen. By God tis well said ; all your best 

* which is none a' GocTs angel.'] Compare Dekker : '' I markt, 
by this Candle, which is none of God's Angels." Satiromaslia; 
1602, Sig. C. 


captain in the Low Countries are as taller as I -. but 
why of my pitch, Mistress Doll ? 

Doll. Because your smallest arrows fly farthest. 
Ah, you little hard-favoured villain, but sweet \al- 
lain ! I love thee because thou 't draw a my side : 
hang the rogue that will not fight for a woman ! 

Capt. Jen. Uds blood, and hang him for urse 
than a rogue that will slash and cut for an oraan, if 
she be a whore. 

Doll. Prithee, good Captain Jenkins, teach me 
to speak some Welch: methinks a Welchman's 
tongue is the neatest tongue — 

Capt. Jen. As any tongue in the urld, unless 
Cra ma crees, that 's urse. 

Doll. How do you say, I love you with all my 
heart ? 

Capt. Jen. Mi cara whee en hellon *. 

Doll. Mi cara whee en hell-hound. 

Capt. Jen. Hell-hound ! O mon dieu ! Mi cara 
whee en hellon. 

Doll. O, mi cara whee en hellon. 

Capt. Jen. O, and you went to writing-school 
twenty score year in Wales, by Sesu you cannot 
have better utterance for Welch. 

Doll. Come tit me, come tat me, come throw a 
kiss at me — how is that ? 

Capt. Jen. By gad I kanow not what your tit- 
mes and tat-mes are, but mee uatha ; 's blood, I 

* Qy. Mi gara chwi yn nghalon. 


know what kisses be as well as I know a Welch 
hook. If you will go down with Shropshire car- 
riers, you shall have Welch enough in your pellies 
forty weeks. 

Doll. Say, captain, that I should follow your 
colours into your country, how should I fare there ? 

Capt. Jen. Fai'e ! by Sesu, O there is the most 
abominable seer*, and wider silver pots to drink 
in, and softer peds to lie upon and do our necessary 
pusiness, and fairer houses, and parks, and holes for 
conies, and more money, besides toasted seese and 
butter-milk in Northwales, diggon, besides harps, 
and Welch frieze, and goats, and cow-heels, and 
metheglin. Ouh ! it may be set in the kernicles. 
Will you march thither ? 

Doll. Not mth your Shrop- shire carriers, cap- 

Capt. Jen. Will you go with Captain Jenkin, 
and see his cousin Madoc ap an Jenkin there ? and 
I '11 run headlongs by and by, and batter away 
money for a nev/ coach to jolt you in. 

Doll. Bestowyour coach upon me, and two young 
white mares, and you shall see how I '11 ride. 

* abominable seer.] The captain does not use abominable in a 
bad sense, quite the reverse : so in Field's A Woman is a Weather' 
cock, 1612 ; 

'' Abraham. Does she so love me say you ? 

Pendant, Yes, yes, out of all question the whore does love you 
abhominable." Sig. F. 4. 

Is it necessary to add that by "«eer" he means cAeer, and 
a little after, by " kernicles " chronicles ? 


Capt. Jen. Will you ? by all the leeks that are 
worn on Saint Davy's day, I will buy not only a 
coach with four wheels, but also a white mare and 
a stone horse too, because they shall traw you very 
lustily, as if the devil were in their arses. 

As he is going, enter Philip. 

How now, more tailors ? 

Phil. How, sir, tailors ! 

Doll. O, good Captain, 't is my cousin ! 

Capt. Jen. Is he ? I will cousin you then sir, too, 
one day. 

Phil. I hope, sir, then to cozen you too. 

Capt. Jen. By gad I hobe so. Farewell, Sida- 
nen *. [^Exit. 

Enter Lever pool at another door. 

Levee. Here's both money and sugar. 
Doll. O sweet villain ! set it up. 

[^Exit Leverpoot, and re-enter presently. 

* Sidatien.^ The old copy '•' Sidanien " — " Sidanen, s. f. dim. 
(sidan) that is silken, or made of silk. It is the name of an old 
tune ; also an epithet for a fine woman ; and has been applied 
particularly to Queen Elizabeth." Owen's Dictionary of the 
Welch Language. 

In reference to the latter part of the preceding quotation from 
Owen, I have to observe, that there was licensed to Richard 
Jones, the 13th of August, 1579, A Ballad of Brittishe Sidanen, 
applied by a courtier to the praise of the Quene, which is printed 
(from a MS.) in the British Bibliographer, vol. i. p. 338, and 
entitled A Dittie to the tune of fVelshe Sydanen, made to the 
Qucenesmaj.' Eliz. by hodov. Lloyd. 


Phil. 'S foot, what tame swaggerer was this 
I met, Doll? 

Doll. A captain, a captain ; but hast scaped the 
Dunkirks, honest Philip ? Philip-rials are not more 
welcome : did thy father pay the shot ? 

Phil. He paid that shot, and then shot pistolets 
into my pocket : hark, wench ; chink, chink, makes 
the punk wanton, and the bawd to wink. {Capers. 

Chart. O rare music ! 

Lever. Heavenly consort, better than old 
Moone's ! * 

Phil. But why, why, Doll, go these two like 
beadles in blue ? ha ? 

Doll. There's a moral in that. Flea off your 
skins, you precious cannibals. O, that the Welch 
captain were here again, and a drum with him ! I 
could march now, ran, tan, tan, tara, ran, tan, tan. 
Sirrah Philip, has thy father any plate iu 's house ? 

Phil. Enough to set up a goldsmith's shop. 

Doll. Can'st not borrow some of it ? We shall 
have guests to-morrow or next day, and I would 

* Heavenly consort, better than old Moone's.'\ " Sirrah wag, 
this Rogue was son and heire to Antony Nowe-Now, and Blind 
Moone : and hee must needs be a scurvy Musition that hath two 
Fidlers to his Fathers." 

Willsins' Miseries of Inforcst Marriage, Sig. A. 2, 1607. 

Anthony Now-Now figures in Chettle's Kind Harts dream, 

When the present play was written, and long after, a set of 
musicians playing or singing together was called a consort ; the 
term concert is comparatively modern. 



serve the hungry ragamuffins in plate, though 't 
were none of mine own. 

Phil, I shall hardly borrow it of him, but I could 
get one of mine aunts to beat the bush for me, and 
she might get the bird. 

Doll. "Why, prithee, let me be one of thine aunts*, 
and do it for me then : as I 'm virtuous and a gen- 
tlewoman, I '11 restore. 

Phil. Say no more ; 't is done. 

Doll. What manner of man is thy father ? 
's foot, I 'd fain see the witty monkey, because thou 
sayest he 's a poet. I '11 tell thee what I '11 do. 
Leverpool or Chartley shall, like my gentleman- 
usher, go to him, and say such a lady sends for him 
about a sonnet or an epitaph for her child that died 
at nurse, or for some device about a mask or so ; 
if he comes, you shall stand in a corner, and see in 
what state I '11 bear myself: he does not know me, 
nor my lodging ? 

Phil. No, no. 

Doll. Is 't a match, sirs ? shall 's be merry with 
him and his muse ? 

Omnes. Agreed; any scaffold to execute knavery 

Doll. I '11 send then my vaunt-courier presently : 
in the mean time march after the captain, scoundrels. 
Come, hold me up : 

Look, how Sabrina sunk i' th' river Severn, 
So will we four be drunk i' th' Shipwreck Tavern. 


* auiUs-l See note *, p. 135. 



Enter Bellamont, Mayberry, and Mistress 

May. Come, wife, our two gallants will be here 
presently : I have promised them the best of enter- 
tainment, with protestation never to reveal to thee 
their slander. I will have thee bear thyself as if 
thou madest a feast upon Simon and Jude's day to 
countiy gentlewomen that came to see the pageant : 
bid them extremely welcome, though thou wish 
their throats cut ; 't is in fashion. 

Mist. May. O God ! I shall never endure them. 

Bell. Endure them ! you are a fool. Make it 
your case, as it may be many women's of the free- 
dom, that you had a friend in private, wliom your 
husband should lay to his bosom, and he in requital 
should lay his wife to his bosom ; what treads of 
the toe, salutations by winks, discourse by bitings 
of the lip, amorous glances, sweet stolen kisses, 
when your husband's back's turned, would pass 
between them ! Bear yourself to Greenshield, as if 
you did love him for affecting you so entirely, not 
taking any notice of his journey : they '11 put more 
tricks upon you. You told me, Greenshield means 
to bring his sister to your house, to have her board 

May. Right. She 's some cracked demi-culverin 
that hath miscarried in service : no matter though 
it be some charge to me for a time, I care not. 

N 2 


Mist. May. Lord, was there ever such a hus- 
band ! 

May. AVhy, wonkiest thou have me suffer their 
tongues to run at large in ordinaries and cockpits? 
Though the knaves do lie, I tell you, Master Bella- 
mont, lies that come from stern looks and satin 
outsides, and gilt rapiers also, will be put up and 
go for current. 

Bell. Right, sir ; 'tis a small spark gives fire to 
a beautiful woman's discredit. 

May. I will therefore use them like informing 
knaves in this kind ; make up their mouths with 
silver, and after be revenged upon them. I was in 
doubt I should have grown fat of late : and it were 
not for lawsuits, and fear of our wives, we rich 
men should grow out of all compass. They come. 

Enter Greenshield and Featherstone. 

My worthy friends, welcome: look, my wife's colour 
rises already. 

Green. You have not made her acquainted with 
the discovery? 

Mat. O, by no means ! ye see, gentlemen, the 
affection of an old man : I would fain make all 
whole again. "Wife, give entertainment to our new 
acquaintance : your lips, wife ; any woman may 
lend her lips without her husband's privity, 'tis al- 

Mist. May. You are very welcome. I think it 


be near dinner time, gentlemen : I '11 will* the maid 
to cover, and return presently. [Exit. 

Bell. God's precious, why doth she leave them? 

May. O, I know her stomach : she is but retired 
into another chamber, to ease her heart with crying 
a little. It hath ever been her humour : she hath 
done it five or six times in a day, when courtiers 
have been here, if anything hath been out of order, 
and yet, every return, laughed and been as merry. 
And how is it, gentlemen ? you are well acquainted 
with this room, are you not ? 

Green. I had a delicate banquet once on that 

May. In good time : but you are better ac- 
quainted with my bed-chamber. 

Bell. Were the cloth -of-gold cushions set forth 
at your entertainment ? 

Feath. Yes, sir. 

May. And the cloth-of-tissue vallance ? 

Feath. They are very rich ones. 

May. God refuse me, they are lying rascals ! I 
have no such furniture. 

Green. I protest it was the strangest, and yet 
withal the happiest fortune, that we should meet 
you two at Ware, that ever redeemed such desolate 
actions. I would not wrong you again for a mil- 
lion of Londons. 

May. No ? Do you want any money ? or if you 

* u'i/l.] See note*, vol. ii. p. 264. 

182 NORTHWARD 110. 

be in debt, (I am a hundredth pound i' th' subsidy,) 
command me. 

Feath. Alas, good gentleman ! Did you ever 
read of the like patience in any of your ancient 
Romans ? 

Bell. You see what a sweet face in a velvet cap 
can do : your citizen's wives are like partridges, the 
hens are better than the cocks. 

Feath. I believe it in troth : sir, you did ob- 
serve how the gentlewoman could not contain her- 
self, when she saw us enter ? 

Bell. Right. 

Feath. For thus much I must speak in allowance 
of her modesty ; when I had her most private she 
would blush extremely. 

Bell. Ay, I warrant you, and ask you if you 
would have such a great sin lie upon your con- 
science as to lie with another man's wife ? 

Feath. In troth she would. 

Bell. And tell you there were maids enough in 
London, if a man were so viciously given, whose 
portions would help them to husbands, though gen- 
tlemen gave the first onset. 

Feath. You are a merry old gentleman in faith, 
sir: much like to this was her language. 

Bell. And yet clip you with as voluntary a 
bosom, as if she had fallen in love with you at some 
Inns-a-court revels, and invited you by letter to her 


Feath. Your knowledge, sir, is perfect without 
any information. 

May. I '11 go see what my wife is doing, gen- 
tlemen : when my wife enters, shew her this ring, 
and 'twill quit all suspicion. [^Exit. 

Fbath. Dost hear, Luke Greenshield? will thy 
wife be here presently ? 

Green.* I left my boy to wait upon her. By 
this light, I think God provides ; for if this citizen 
had not out of his overplus of kindness proflFered 
her her diet and lodging under the name of my sis- 
ter, I could not have told what shift to have made, 
for the greatest part of my money is revolted; 
we '11 make more use of him. The whoreson rich 
innkeeper of Doncaster, her father, shewed himself 
a rank ostler, to send her up at this time a year, 
and by the carrier too ; 'twas but a jade's trick of 

Feath. But have you instructed her to call you 
brother ? 

Green. Yes, and she '11 do it. I left her at Bo- 
soms Innt ; she '11 be here presently. 

* The old copy gives this speech to Mayberry. 

f Bosoms Inn.^ 

" Antiquities in this Lane [St. Lawrence Lane] I find none 
other than that among many fair Houses, there is one large Inne 
for receit of Travellers, called Blossoms Inne, but corruptly 
Bosoms Inne, and hath to sign S. Laurence the Deacon, in a bor- 
der of Blossoms or Flowers." 

Stow's Survey of London, &c. B. iii. p. 40, ed. 1720. 


Enter Maybe rry. 

May. Master Greenshield, your sister is come ; 
my wife is entertaining her : by the mass, I have 
been upon her lips already. 

Enter Mistress Matberry and Kate, 

Lady, you are welcome. Look you, Master Green- 
shield, because your sister is newly come out of the 
fresh air, and that to be pent up in a narrow lodg- 
ing here i' th' city may offend her health, she shall 
lodge at a garden-house of mine in Moorfields, 
where, if it please you and my worthy friend here 
to bear her company, your several lodgings and 
joint commons, to the poor ability of a citizen, shall 
be provided. 

Feath. O God, sir. 

May. Nay, no compliment ; your loves command 
it. Shall 's to dinner, gentlemen ? Come, Master 
Bellamont. [^Exeunt Mayherry and Bellamont. 

Green. I '11 be the gentleman- usher to this fair 
lady.* Here is your ring, Mistress : a thousand 

times, — i" and would have willingly lost 

my best of maintenance that I might have found you 
half so tractable. 

* I ' II be the gentleman-usher to this fair lady.'] The old copy 
makes this a part of Mayberry's speech, but it evidently belongs 
to Greenshield. 

-J- This break is found in the old copy, occasioned 

by some defect in the MS. 


Mist. May. Sir, I am still myself. I know not 
by what means you have grown upon my husband : 
he is much deceived in you, I take it. Will you go 
into dinner? O God, that I might have my will of 
him, and it were not for my husband, I 'd scratch 
out his eyes presently. 

l^Exeimt Greenshield and Mistress Mayherry. 

Feath. Welcome to London, bonny Mistress 
Kate : thy husband little dreams of the familiarity 
that hath passed between thee and I, Kate. 

Kate. No matter if he did. He ran away from 
me, like a base slave as he was, out of Yorkshire, 
and pretended he would go the Island voyage* : 
since I ne'er heard of him till within this fortnight. 
Can the Avorld comdemn me for entertaining a 
friend, that am used so like an infidel ? 

Feath. I think not : but if your husband knew 
of this, he 'd be divorced. 

Kate. He were an ass, then. No wise men 
should deal by their wives as the sale of ordnance 
passeth in England : if it break the first discharge, 
the workman is at the loss of it ; if the second, the 
merchant and the workman jointly ; if the third, the 
merchant : so in our case, if a woman prove false 
the first year, turn her upon her father's neck ; if 

* the Island f'oyagr.] Undertaken against Hispaniola, in 
1585 : the fleet, commanded by Sir Francis Drake, consisted of 
twenty-one sliips, carrying above two thousand volunteers: they 
took possession of St. Domingo. 


the second, turn her home to her father, but allow 
her a portion ; but if she hold pure metal two 
year and fly to several pieces in the third, repair 
the ruins of her honesty at your charges. For the 
best piece of ordnance may be cracked in the cast- 
ing, and for women to have cracks and flaws, alas I 
they are born to them. Now, I have held out four 
year. Doth my husband do any things about Lon- 
don ? doth he swagger ? 

Feath. O, as tame as a fray in Fleet-street, 
when there are nobody to part them. 

Kate. I ever thought so. We have notable 
valiant fellows about Doncasterj they '11 give the 
lie and the stab both in an instant. 

Feath. You like such kind of manhood best, 

Kate. Yes, in troth ; for I think any woman 
that loves her friend had rather have him stand by 
it than lie by it. But, I pray thee, tell me why 
must I be quartered at this citizen's garden-house, 
say you ? 

Feath. The discourse of that will set thy blood 
on fire to be revenged on thy husband's forehead 

Enter Mistress Mayberry and Bellamont. 

Mist. May. Will you go in to dinner, sir? 
Kate. Will you lead the way, forsooth ? 
Mist. May. No, sweet, forsooth, we '11 follow 
you. \_Exeunt Kate and Feaiherstonc.'] O Master 


Bellamont, as ever you took pity upon the simplicity 
of a poor abused gentlewoman, will you tell me one 
thing ? 

Bell. Anything, sweet Mistress Mayberry. 

Mist. May. Ay, but will you do it faithfully ? 

Bell. As I respect your acquaintance, I shall do 

Mist. May. Tell me, then, I beseech you, do not 
you think this minx is some naughty pack whom 
my husband hath fallen in love with, and means to 
keep under my nose at his garden-house* ? 

Bell. No, upon my life is she not. 

Mist. May. O, I cannot believe it. I know by 
her eyes she is not honest. Why should my hus- 
band proffer them such kindness, that have abused 
him and me so intolerable ? and will not suffer me 
to speak — there's the hell on 't — not suffer me to 
speak ? 

Bell. Fie, fie I he doth that like a usurer that 
will use a man with all kindness, that he may be 
careless of paying his money upon his day, and 
afterwards take the extremity of the forfeiture. 
Your jealousy is idle : say this were true ; it lies in 

* at his garden-houseJ\ Garden-houses were used for such 
purposes: so in the opening of Barry's Ram-Alley, 1611 ; 
"what makes he heere, 
In the skirts of Holborne, so neere the field, 
And at a garden-house , a has some punke 
Upon my li/e." 


the bosom of a sweet wife to draw her husband 
from any loose imperfection, from wenching, from 
jealousy, from covetousness, from crabbedness, 
which is the old man's common disease, by her politic 
yielding. She may do it from crabbedness ; for 
example, I have known as tough blades as any are 
in England broke upon a feather bed. Come to 

Mist. May. I '11 be ruled by you, sir, for you are 
very like mine uncle. 

Bell. Suspicion works more mischief, grows 
more strong. 
To sever chaste beds than apparent wrong.* 



Enter Doll, Chartley, Leverpool, and 

Phil. Come, my little punk, with thy two com- 
positors to this unlawful painting-house, thy pound- 
ers a' my old poetical dad will be here presently. 
Take up thy state in this chair, and bear thyself as 
if thou wert talking to thy 'poticary after the re- 
ceipt of a purgation : look scurvily upon him ; some- 

* vjronff.'\ The old copy " wrongs.'' 


times be merry, and stand upon thy pantofles, like a 
new-elected scavenger. 

Doll. And by and by melancholic, like a tilter 
that hath broke his staves foul before his mistress. 

Phil. Right, for he takes thee to be a woman of 
a great count. Hark ! upon my life he 's come. 

[Hides himself. 

Doll. See who knocks. \_Exit Leverpool.'] Tliou 
shalt see me make a fool of a poet, that hath made 
five hundred fools. 

Re-enter Leverpool. 

Lever. Please your new ladyship, he 's come. 

Doll. Is he ? I should for the more state let him 
walk some two hours in an outer room : if I did owe 
him money, 'twere not much out of fashion. But 
come, enter ?iim : stay, when we are in private con- 
ference, send in my tailor. 

Enter Bella mont, brought in by Leverpool. 

Lever. Look you, my lady 's asleep : she '11 wake 

Bell. I come not to teach a starling, sir ; God 
b' wi' you. 

Lever. Nay, in truth, sir, if my lady should but 
dream you had been here 

Doll. Who 's that keeps such a prating? 

Lever. 'Tis I, madam. 

Doll. I '11 have you preferred to be a crier ; you 


have an excellent throat for 't. Pox a' the poet, is 
he not come yet ? 

Lever. He's here, madam. 

Doll. Cry you mercy : I ha' curst my monkey 
for shrewd turns a hundred times, and yet I love 
it never the worse, I protest. 

Bell. 'Tis not in fashion, dear lady, to call the 
breaking out of a gentlewoman's lips, scabs, but the 
heat of the liver. 

Doll. So sir; if you have a sweet breath, and do 
not smell of sweaty linen, you may draw nearer, 

Bell. I am no friend to garlick, madam, 

Doll. You write the sweeter verse a great deal, 
sir. I have heard much good of your wit, master 
poet ; you do many devices for citizen's wives : I 
care not greatly, because I have a city laundress 
already, if I get a city poet too : I have such a 
device for you, and this it is 

Enter Tailor. 

O, welcome, tailor. Do but wait till I despatcli my 
tailor, and I '11 discover my device to you. 

Bell. I 'II take my leave of your ladyship. 

Doll. No, I pray thee, stay : I must have you 
sweat for my device, master poet, 

Phil. He sweats already, believe it. 

Doll. A cup of wine, there ! What fashion will 
make a woman have the best body, tailor ? 


Tailor. A short Dutch waist, mth a round 
Catherine-wheel fardingale ; a close sleeve with a 
cartoose* collar, and a pickadell t. 

Doll. And what meat will make a woman have 
a fine wit, master poet ? 

Bbll. Fowl, madam, is the most light, delicate, 
and witty feeding. 

Doll. Fowl, sayest thou ? I know them that 
feed of it every meal, and yet are as arrant fools as 
any are in a kingdom, of my credit. Hast thou 
done, tailor ? [Exit Taiior."] Now to discover my 
device, sir ; I '11 drink to you, sir. 

Phil. God's precious ! we ne'er thought of her 
device before ; pray God it be anything tolerable. 

Doll. I '11 have you make twelve posies for a 
dozen of cheese-trenchers J. 

* carloose.^ Qy " carlouch." 

f pickadellJ] Written also, pickadill and pickardill, was pro- 
perly an upright collar with stiffened plaits ; here it seems to 
mean a sort of edging to the collar. Some derive the svord from 
picca (Span, and Ital.) a spear-head ; others, from picad'dlo 
(Span.) the diminutive of picado, meaning any thing pinked liiie 
cloth. The street Piccadilly is said to have been so called, 
because Higgms, a tailor, who built part of it, got most of his 
estate by pickadills. 

J twelve posies for a dozen of cheese-trenchers^ Cheese- 
trenchers, at the time this play was written, used frequently to 
have posies inscribed on them. In Dekker's Honest Whore (part 
first) 1604, George quotes six lines, " as one of our Cheese- 
trenchers sayes very learnedly.' Sig. H 4, Compare too Middle- 
ton ; 

" Widow. 


Phil. O horrible ! 

Bell. In Welch, madam ? 

Doll. Why in Welch, sir? 

Bell. Because you will have them served in with 
your cheese, lady. 

Doll. I will bestow them indeed upon a Welch 
captain, one that loves cheese better than venison : 
for if you should but get three or four Cheshire 
cheeses, and set them a running down Highgate- 
hill, he would make more haste after them than 
after the best kennel of hounds in England. What 
think you of my device ? 

Bell. 'Fore God, a very strange device and a 
cunning one. 

Phil. Now he begins to eye the goblet. 

Bell. You should be akin to the Bellamonts ; 
you give the same arms, madam. 

Doll. Faith I paid sweetly for the cup, as it may 
be you and some other gentlemen have done for 
their arms. 

Bell. Ha ! the same weight, the same fashion ! 

" Widow, Twelve Trenchers, upon every one a moneth, 
January, February, March, April — 

Pepperton. I, and their Poesies under 'em. 

Wid. Pray what says May ? she 's the Spring Lady. 
Now gallant May, in her array, 
Doth make the field pleasant and gay. 

Overton. This moneth of June use clarified Whey, 
Boil'd with cold herbs, and drink alway." 
(But enough of such stuff.) 

No wit like a woman's, 1657, p. 36. 


I had three nest of them * given me by a nobleman 
at t]ie christening of my son Philip. 

Phil. \_Discovenng himself.'] Your son is come 
to full age, sir, and hath ta'en possession of the gift 
of his godfather. 

Bell. Ha ! thou wilt not kill me ? 

Phil. No, sir, I '11 kill no poet, lest his ghost 
wTite satires against me. 

Bell. What 's she ? a good commonwealth's 
woman, she was born — 

Phil. For her country, and has borne her coun- 

Bell. Heart of virtue ! what make I here ? 

Phil. This was the party you railed on, I keep 
no worse company than yourself, father. You Avere 
wont to say, venery is like usury, that it may be 
allowed though it be not lawful. 

Bell. Wherefore come I hither ? 

Doll. To make a device for cheese-trenchers. 

Phil. I '11 tell you why I sent for you ; for no- 

* three nest of them.'] So in the opening of Marston's Dutch 
Courtezan, 1605 ; "cogging Cocledemoy is runne away with a 
neast ofgob/ets;" and so in Armin's Two Maides of JMoreclacke, 

" Place your plate, and pile your vitriall boales 
Nest upon nest.'" Sig. H 2. 
Mr. Crossley, of Manchester, observes to me that the term nest 
of goblets is still made use of in the West Riding of Yorkshire ; 
a near relative of his possesses one of these nests, — a large goblet 
containing many smaller ones of gradually diminishing sizes, which 
fit into each other and fill it up. 



thing but to shew you that your gravity may be 
drawn in ; white hairs may fall into the company of 
drabs, as well as red-beards into the society of 
knaves. Would not this woman deceive a whole 
camp i' th' Low-countries, and make one com^mander 
believe she only kept her cabin for him, and yet 
quarter twenty more in 't ? 

Doll. Prithee, poet, what dost thou think of 

Bell. I think thou art a most admirable, brave, 
beautiful whore. 

Doll. Nay, sir, I was told you would rail: but 
what do you think of my device, sir ? nay, but you 
are not to depart yet, master poet : wut sup wth 
me ? I '11 cashier all my young barnacles, and we '11 
talk over a piece of mutton and a partridge wisely. 

Bell. Sup with thee, that art a common under- 
taker ! thou that dost promise nothing but watchet 
eyes, bumbast calves, and false peri\^'igs ! 

Doll. Prithee, comb thy beard with a comb of 
black lead, it may be I shall affect thee. 

Bell. O, thy unlucky star ! I must take my leave 
of your worship ; I cannot fit your device at this 
instant. I must desire to borrow a nest of goblets 
of you. O villany I I would some honest butcher 
would beg all the queans and knaves i' th' city, and 
carry them into some other country : they 'd sell 
better than beeves and calves. What a virtuous 
city would this be then ! marry, I think there would 
be a few people left in 't. Uds foot, gulled with 


cheese -trenchers, and yoked in entertainment with 
a tailor ! good, good. {Exit. 

Phil. How doest, Doll ? 

Doll. Scurvy, very scurvy. 

Lever. Where shall 's sup, wench ? 

Doll. I '11 sup in my bed. Get you home to 
your lodging, and come when T send for you. O, 
filthy rogue that I am ! 

Phil. How, how, Mistress Dorothy ? 

Doll. Saint Antony's fire light in your Spanish 
slops ! uds life, I '11 make you know a difference 
between my mirth and melancholy, you panderly 

Omnes. We observe your ladyship. 

Phil. The punk 's in her humour, pax*. 

\_Exeunt all but Doll. 

Doll. I '11 humour you, and you pox me. Uds 
life have I lien with a Spaniard of late, that I have 
learnt to mingle such water with my Malaga ? O, 

" pax.l For pox ; it was perhaps an affected mode of pro- 
nouncing the word. So Heywood and Brome in TAe late Lan- 
cashire Witches, 1634, "Pax, I think not on 't," — Sig. E 3 ; 
Brome in the Jovial/ Crew, 1652, " Pax o' your fine thing," — 
Sig. L ; and Middleton, in Your Five Gallants, n.d. " Pax on 't, 
we spoile ourselves for want of these things at University," — 
Sig. B 4 ; and again in the same play, — " TV/y. Agen : pax of 
these dice. Bu, 'Tis ill to curse the dead, sir. Purs. Mew, 
where should I wish the pox, but among bones." Sig. D 2. I 
have cited these passages, because, I believe, none of the an- 
notators who have busied themselves about verbal trifles, have 
noticed the peculiar spelling of the word. 

o 2 


there 's some scurvy thing or other breeding ! How 
many several loves of players, of vaulters, of lieute- 
nants, have I entertained, besides a runner a' the 
ropes, and now to let blood when the sign is at the 
heart ! Should I send him a letter with some jewel 
in't, he would requite it as lawyers do, that return a 
woodcock pie to their clients, when they send them 
a bason and a ewer *. I will instantly go and make 
myself drunk till I have lost my memory. Love t 
a scoffing poet ! \^Exit. 


Enter Leapfrog and Squirrel. 

Leap. Now, Squirrel, wilt thou make us ac- 
quainted with the jest thou promised to tell us of ? 

Squir. I wiU discover it, not as a Derbyshire 
woman discovers her great teeth, in laughter, but 
softly, as a gentleman courts a wench behind an 
arras ; and this it is. Young Greenshield, thy 

* Should I send him a letter, &c a bason and a 

ewer.'] I once imagined that " a woodcock-pie " meant here lonff 
bills ; but I now think it is a mere derision, as woodcociis were 
reckoned foolish birds : when this play was written, basons and 
ewers of silver used frequently to be given as presents; "One 
of LordTimon's men ? a gift, I warrant. Why, this hits right; 
I dreamt of a silver basofi and ewer to-night." Shakespeare's 
Timon of Athens, act iii. sc. 1. 

t JLoi'e.] The old copy " //re." Since I wrote out this play 
for the press, I have found that the same alteration was made by 
Malone in his copy. 


mastei*, with Greenshield's sister, lie in my master's 
garden-house here in Moorfields, 

Leap. Right ; what of this ? 

Squir. Marry, sir, if the gentlewoman be not 
his wife, he commits incest, for I 'm sure he lies 
with her every night. 

Leap. All this I know ; but to the rest. 

Squir. I will tell thee the most politick trick of a 
woman that e'er made a man's face look withered 
and pale, like the tree in Cuckold's-haven * in a 

* the tree in CiickohP s-haven-l As perhaps this work may be 
read by some who are uiidcquainted with the neighbourhood of 
London, and have never sailed down the Thames to eat white bait 
at Greenwich, it may be necessary to remark, that a little below 
Rotherhithe is a spot, close on the river, called Cuckold's Point ; 
it is distinguished by a tall pole with a pair of horns on the top. 
Tradition says that near this place there lived, in the reign of 
King John, a miller who had a handsome wife : that his majesty 
had an intrigue with the fair dame, and gave him, as a compen- 
sation, all the land on that side, which he could see from his 
house, looking down the river ; he was to possess it, how- 
ever, only on the condition of walking on that day (the 18th of 
October) annually to the farthest bounds of his estate with a pair 
of buck's horns on his head ; that the miller having cleared his 
eyesight, saw as far as Charlton, and enjoyed the land on the 
above mentio'ned terms. (In several books which condescend to 
notice this story, we are told that the miller lived at Charlton and 
saw as far as Cuckold's Point; but the version of it which I have 
given is what the watermen on the Thames even now repeat.) 
Horn fair is still held at Charlton, on the 18th of October, in 
commemoration of the event. 

In A Discovery hy Sea, &c. by Taylor, the water-poet, (^IVorks, 
folio, p. 21, 1630,) are the following lines : — 



great snow ; and this it is. My mistress makes her 
husband believe that she walks in her sleep a' nights, 
and to confirm this belief in him, sundry times she 
hath risen out of her bed, unlocked all the doors, 
gone from chamber to chamber, opened her chests, 
toused among her linen, and when he hath waked 
and missed her, coming to question why she con- 
jured thus at midnight, he hath found her fast 
asleep : marry, it was cat's sleep, for you shall hear 
what prey she watched for. 
Leap. Good : forth. 

" And passing further, I at first observ'd 
That Cuckold's-Haven was but badly serv'd : 
For there old Time had such confusion wrought, 
That of that Ancient place remained nought. 
No monumentall memorable Home, 
Or Tree, or Post, which hath those Trophees borne, 
Was left, whereby Posterity may know 
Where their forefathers Crests did grow, or show." 

"Why then for shame this worthy Port mainetaine, 
Lets have our Tree and Horns set up againe ; 
That Passengers may shew obedience to it, 
In putting off their Hats, and homage doe it." 

" But holla. Muse, no longer be offended, 
'Tis worthily Repair'd, and bravely mended, 
For which great meritorious worke, my pen 
Shall give the glory unto Greenwitch men, 
It was their onely cost, they were the Actors 
Without the helpe of other Benefactors, 
For which my pen their prayses here adornes. 
As they have beautifi'd the Hav'n with Homes." 

The custom here alluded to, of doing homage to the pole horn:?, 
is not yet obsolete among the vulgar. 


Squir, I overheard her last night talking with 
thy master, and she promised him that as soon as 
her husband was asleep, she would walk according 
to her custom, and come to his chamber : marry, 
she would do it so puritanically, so secretly, I mean, 
that nobody should hear of it. 

Leaf. Is 't possible ? 

Squir. Take but that corner and stand close, and 
thine eyes shall witness it. 

Leap. O, intolerable wit! what hold can any man 
take of a woman's honesty ! 

Squir. Hold ! no more hold than of a bull 'nointed 
with soap, and baited with a shoal of fiddlers in 
Staffordshire. Stand close ; I hear her coming. 

Enter K-AT^. 

Kate. What a filthy knave was the shoemaker 
that made my slippers ! what a creaking they keep ! 
O Lord, if there be any power that can make a 
woman's husband sleep soundly at a pinch, as I have 
often read in foolish poetry that there is, now, now, 
and it be thy will, let him dream some fine dream 
or other, that he 's made a knight or a nobleman, or 
somewhat, whilst I go and take but two kisses, but 
two kisses from sweet Featherstone ! l_Exit. 

Squir. 'Sfoot, he may well dream he 's made a 
knight, for I '11 be hanged if she do not dub him. 

Enter Greenshield. 
Green. "Was there ever any walking spirit like to 


my wife ! what reason should there be in nature 
for this ? I will question some physician. Nor here 
neither ! Ud's life, I would laugh if she were in 
Master Featherstone's chamber : she would fright 
him. Master Featherstone, Master Featherstone ! 

Feath. [ivithin] Ha ! how now, who calls ? 

Green. Did you leave your door open last night ? 

Feath. I know not, I think my boy did. 

Green. God's light, she 's there, then. Will 
you know the jest, my wife hath her old tricks. I'll 
hold my life, my wife 's in your chamber : rise out 
of your bed, and see and you can feel her. 

Squir. He will feel her, I warrant you. 

Green. Have you her, sir ? 

Feath. Not yet, sir : she *s here, sir. 

Green. So I said even now to myself, before 
God, la. Take her up in your arms, and bring her 
hither softly for fear of waking her. I never knew 
the like of this, before God, la. 

Enter Featherstone, and Kate in his arms. 

Alas, poor Kate I look, before God, she 's asleep 
with her eyes open : pretty little rogue : I '11 wake 
her and make her ashamed of it. 

Feath. O, you '11 make her sicker then. 

Green. I warrant you. Would all women 
thought no more hurt than thou dost now, sweet 
villain ! Kate, Kate ! 

Kate. I longed for the merrythought of a phea- 



Green. She talks in her sleep. 
Kate. And the foul-gutted tripe-wife liad got 
it, and eat half of it, and my colour went and came, 
and my stomach wambled tiU I was ready to swoon ; 
but a midwife perceived it, and marked which way 
my eyes went, and helped me to it : but, Lord, how 
I picked it ! 'twas the sweetest meat, methought. 
Squir. O, politick mistress ! 
Green. Why, Kate, Kate ! 
Kate. Ha, ha, hal ay, beshrew your heart. Lord, 
where am I ? 

Green. I pray thee, be not frighted. 
Kate. O, I am sick, I am sick, I am sick ! O, 
how my flesh trembles ! O, some of the Angelica 
water ! I shall have the mother presently. 

Green. Hold down her stomach, good Master 

Featherstone, while I fetch some. [Exit. 

Feath. Well dissembled, Kate. 

Kate. Pish, I am like some of your ladies that 

can be sick when they have no stomach to lie with 

their husbands. 

Feath. What mischievous fortune is this ! We '11 
have a journey to Ware, Kate, to redeem this mis- 

Kate. Well, cheaters do not win always : that 
woman that will entertain a friend, must as well 
provide a closet or backdoor for him as a feather- 

Feath. By my troth, I pity thy husband. 
Kate. Pity himi no man dares call him cuckold, 


for he wears sattin : pity him ! he that will pull 
down a man's sign and set up horns, there 's law 
for him. 

Feath. Be sick again, your husband comes. 

Enter Greenshield, with a broken shin. 

Green. I have tlie worst luck ; I think I get 
more bumps and shrewd turns i' th' dark I — How 
does she, Master Featherstone ? 

Feath. Very ill, sir, she 's troubled with the 
mother extremely ; I held down her belly even now, 
and I might feel it rise. 

Kate. O, lay me in my bed, I beseech you ! 

Green. I will find a remedy for this walking, if 
all the doctors in town can sell it : a thousand 
pound to a penny she spoil not her face, or break 
her neck, or catch a cold that she may ne'er claw 
off again. How dost, wench ? 

Kate. A little recovered, Alas, I have so 
troubled that gentleman ! 

Feath. None i' th' world, Kate ; may I do you 
any farther service? 

Kate. And I were where I would be, in your 
bed — pray, pardon me, was 't you. Master Feather- 
stone ? — hem, I should be well then. 

Squir. Mark how she wrings him by the fin- 

Kate. Good night. Pray you, give the gentle- 
man thanks for patience. 

Green. Good night, sir. 


Feath. You have a shrewd blow ; you were best 
have it searched. 

Green. A scratch, a scratch. 

[^Exeunt Greenshield and Kate. 

Feath. Let me see, what excuse should I frame, 
to get this wench forth a' town with me ? I '11 per- 
suade her husband to take physic, and presently have 
a letter framed from his father-in-law, to be deli- 
vered that morning, for his wife to come and re- 
ceive some small parcel of money in Enfield-chase, 
at a keeper s that is her uncle : then, sir, he not 
being in case to travel, will entreat me to accom- 
pany his wife ; we '11 lie at Ware all night, and the 
next morning to London. I *il go strike a tinder, 
and frame a letter presently. {Exit. 

Squir. And I '11 take the pains to discover all 
this to my master, old Mayberry. There hath gone 
a report a good while my master hath used them 
kindly, because they have been over familiar with 
his wife, but I see which way Featherstone looks. 
Sfoot, there 's ne'er a gentleman of them all shall 
gull a citizen, and think to go scot free. Though 
your commons shrink for this, be but secret, and 
my master shall entertain thee ; make thee, instead 
of handling false dice, finger nothing but gold and 
silver, wag : an old servingman turns to a young 
beggar, whereas a young prentice may turn to an 
old alderman. Wilt be secret ? 

Leap. O God, sir, as secret as rushes in an old 
lady's chamber. [Exeunt. 



Enter Bellamont, in his night-cap, with leaves in 
his hand ; his Man ajler him, with lights, standish, 

Bell. Sirrah, I '11 speak with none. 

Serv. Not a player ? 

Bell. No, though a sharer bawl ; 
I '11 speak with none, although it be the mouth 
Of the big company ; I '11 speak A\'ith none : away- 

\^Exit Servingman. 
Why should not I be an excellent statesman ? I can 
in the writing of a tragedy make Caesar speak 
better than ever his ambition could ; when T write 
of Pompey, I have Pompey's soul within me ; and 
when I personate a worthy poet, I am then truly 
myself, a poor unpreferred scholar. 

Enter Servingman, hastily. 

Serv. Here 's a swaggering fellow, sir, that 
speaks not like a man of God"s making, swears he 
must speak with you, and will speak with you. 

Bell. Not of God's making ! what is he ? a cuck- 
old ? 

Serv. He 's a gentleman, sir, by his clothes. 

Bell. Enter him and his clothes : [Exit Serv- 
ingman ] clothes sometimes are better gentlemen 
than their masters. 


jB^^i^r Captain Jenkins and the Servingman. 

Is this he ? seek you me, sir ? 

Capt. Jen. I seek, sir, God pless you, for a sen- 
tleman, that talks besides to himself when he 's 
alone, as if he were in Bedlam, and he 's a poet. 

Bell. So sir, it may be you seek me, for I 'm 
sometimes out a' my wits. 

Capt. Jen. You are a poet, sir, are you ? 

Bell. I 'm haunted with a fury, sir. 

Capt. Jen. Pray, master poet, shoot off this 
little pot-gun, and I will conjure your fury : 'tis 
well say* you, sir. My desires are to have some 
amiable and amorous sonnet or madrigal composed 
by your fury, see you. 

Bell. Are you a lover, sir, of the nine muses ? 

Capt. Jen. Ow, by gad, out a'cry.f 

Bell. Y' are, then, a scholar, sir ? 

Capt. Jen. I ha' picked up my cromes in Sesus 
College, in Oxford, one day a gad while ago. 

Bell. Y' are welcome, y' are very welcome. I '11 
borrow your judgment : look you, sir, I 'm writing 
a tragedy, the tragedy of young Astyanax. 

* say.'] The old copy, " fay." 

f out a' cry.'] i. e. out of measure. Malone (note on As you 
like it, act iii. sc. 2) thinks it alludes to the custom of giving 
notice by a crier of things to be sold : I rather believe it is derived 
from the circumstance of a person being so far distant as to be 
unable to hear another person crying after him. Out of all ho, 
and out of all whooping seem to have the same meaning. 


Capt. Jen. Styanax' tragedy ! is he living, can 
you tell ? was not Styanax a Monmouth man ? 

Bell. O, no, sir, you mistake, he was a Troyan, 
great Hector's son. 

Capt. Jen. Hector was grannam to Cadwallader ; 
when she was great with child, God udge me, there 
was one young Styanan of Monmouthshire was a 
madder Greek as any is in all England. 

Beli. This was not he, assure ye. Look you, 
sir, I will have this tragedy presented in the French 
court by French gallants. 

Capt. Jen. By God, your Frenchmen will do a 
tragedy enterlude poggy well. 

Bell. It shall be, sir, at the marriages of the 
Duke of Orleans, and Chatillon, the admiral of 
France ; the stage • 

Capt. Jen. Ud's blood, does Orleans marry with 
the admiral of France, now ? 

Bell. O, sir, no, they are two several marriages. 
As I was saying, the stage hung all with black 
velvet, and while 'tis acted, myself will stand be- 
hind the Duke of Biron, or some other chief minion 
or so, who shall, ay, they shall take some occasion 
about the music of the fourth act to step to the 
French king, and say, Sire, voila, il est votre ires 
humble serviteur,leplus sage et divin esprit, Monsieur 
Bellamont, all in French thus, pointing at me, or, 
yon is the learned old English gentleman, Master 
Bellamont, a very worthy man to be one of your privy 
chamber, or poet laureai. 


Capt. Jen. But are you sure Duke Pepper-noon 
will give you such good urds behind your back, to 
your face ? 

Bell. O, ay, ay, ay, man ; he 's the only cour- 
tier that I know there : but what do you think that 
I may come to by this ? 

Capt. Jen. God udge me, all France may hap 
die in your debt for this. 

Bell. I am now writing the description of his 

Capt. Jen. Did he die in his ped ? 

Bell. You shall hear. Suspicion is the minion 
of great hearts — no, I will not begin there. Imagine 
a great man were to be executed about the seventh 
hour in a gloomy morning. 

Capt. Jen. As it might be Sampson, or so, or 
great Golias that was killed by my countryman ? 

Bell. Right, sir: thus I express it in young 
Astyanax ; 

Noiv the wild people, greedy of their griefs, 

Longing to see that which their thoughts abhorrd. 

Prevented day, and rode on their own roofs. 

Capt. Jen. Could the little horse that ambled on 
the top of Paul's* carryall the people? else how 
could they ride on the roofs ? 

" the little horse that ambled on the top of PauVs^ Bankes' 
famous horse, called Marocco (with which learned animal the 
conmientators on our old poets have made their readers so fami- 
liar), is said, among other feats, to have mounted to tlie top of St. 
Paul's church. 


Bell. O, sir, 'tis a figure in poetry: mark how 
'tis followed — 

rode on their own roofs. 

Making all neighbouring houses til'd with men. 
Til'd with men ! is 't not good ? 

Capt. Jen. By Sesu, and it were tiled all with 
naked imen 'twere better. 

Bell. You shall hear no more ; pick your ears, 
they are foul, sir. What are you, sir, pray ? 

Capt. Jen. A captain, sir, and a follower of god 

Bell. Mars, Bacchus, and I love Apollo : a cap- 
tain ! then I pardon you, sir; and, captain, what 
would you press me for ? 

Capt. Jen. For a witty ditty to a sentloman that 
I am fallen in withal, over head and ears in affec- 
tions and natural desires. 

Bell. An acrostic were good upon her name, 

Capt. Jen. Cross sticks ! I would not be too cross, 
master poet ; yet, if it be best to bring her name in 
question, her name is Mistress Dorothy Hornet. 

Bell. The very consumption that wastes my son, 
and the ay me that hung lately upon me ! Do you 
love this Mistress Dorothy ? 

Capt, Jen. Love her ! there is no captain's wife 
in England can have more love put upon her ; and 
yet, I'm sure, captains' wives have their pellies-fuU 
of good men's loves. 


Bell. And does she love you ? has there passed 
any great matter between you? 

Capt. Jen. As great a matter as a whole coach 
and a horse and his wife are gone to and fro be- 
tween us. 

Bell. Is she — i' faith, captain, be valiant and 
tell truth — is she honest ? 

Capt. Jen. Honest ! God udge me, she 's as 
honest as a punck that cannot abide fornication and 

Bell. Look you, captain. 111 shew you why I 
ask ; I hope you think my wenching days are past, 
yet, sir, here 's a letter that her father brought 
me from her, and inforced me to take, this very 

Enter a Servant, and whispers Bellamont. 

Capt. Jen. 'Tis for some love-song to send to 
me, I hold my life. 

Bell. This falls out pat : my man tells me the 
party is at my door; shall she come in, captain ? 

Capt. Jen. O, ay, ay, put her in, put her in, I 
pray now. \Erit Servant. 

Bell. The letter says here that she's exceeding 
sick, and entreats me to visit her. Captain, lie you 
in ambush, behind the hangings, and perhaps you 
shall hear the piece of a comedy: she comes, she 
comes, make yourself away. 

Capt. Jen. Does the poet play Torkin, and cast 
my Lucraesie's water too in hugger muggers ? if he 

VOL. in. p 


do, Styanax' tragedy was never so horrible bloody- 
minded as his comedy shall be. Taw a son*, Cap- 
tain Jenkins. [Hides himself. 

Enter Doll. 

Doll. Now, master poet, I sent for you. 

Bell. And I came once at your ladyship's call. 

Doll. My ladyship and your lordship lie both in 
one manor: you have conjured up a sweet spirit 
in me, have you not, rhymer ? 

Bell. Why, Medea, what spirit ? Would I were 
a young man, for thy sake ! 

Doll. So would I, for then thou couldst do me 
no hurt ; now, thou doest. 

Bell. If I were ayounker, it would be no immo- 
desty in me to be seen in thy company ; but to 
have snow in the lap of June, vile, vile ! Yet come, 
garlick has a white head and a green stalkf ; then 
why should not I? Let 's be merry : what says the 
devil to all the world, for I 'm sure thou art carnally 
possessed with him ? 

Doll. Thou hast a filthy foot, a very filthy car- 
rier's foot. 

* Tawason.^ i.e. hold your tongue. 

■j- garlick has a white head, and a green sta^k.^ So in The 
Honest Lawyer. 1616 ; " I 'm like a leeke, though I have a gray 
head, 1 have a greene" &:c. Sig. G 2. And so in various old plays 
and poems, Chaucer's Reve's Prologue, &c. This piece of wit 
may be traced to Boccaccio : " E quagli che contro alia niia eti 
parlando vannOj mosira mal che conoscano che, perche il porro 



Bell. A filthy shoe, but a fine foot : I stand not 
upon mj' foot, I. 

abbia il capo bianco, che la coda sia verde." Decamerone. — In- 
troduction to Giornata quarta. 

Having quoted The Honest Lawyer, I cannot refrain from 
pointing out the resemblance between a passage in it, and one in 
The Widow, a joint production of Jonson, Fletcher, and Mid- 
dleton ; 

" Gripe. The stone, the stone, I am pittifully grip'd with the 


Falentine. Sir, the disease is somewhat dangerous. 

I must awhile withdraw to study. Sir. 
Now am I puzzled : bloud, what medicine 
Should I devise to do 't ? It must be violent. 
Give him some Aqua-fortis ; that would speed him. 
Let's see. Me thinks, a little Gun-powder 
Should have some strange relation to this fit. 
I have seen Gun-powder oft drive out stones 
From Forts and Castle-walls," &c. 

The Honest Lawyer. Writ ten by S. S. 1616, SigF2. 

" Occulta. I warrant you : your name 's spread, Sir, for an 

There 's an old Mason troubled with the Stone 
Has sent to you this morning for your counsell, 
He would have ease fain. 

Latrocinio. Le' me see, ile send him a whole Musket-charge of 

Occulta. Gun-powder ? what sir, to break the stone ? 

Latrocinio. I by my faith, sir. 
It is the likeliest thing I know to do 't. 
I 'msure it breaks stone-walls and Castles down, 
I see no reason, but't should break the stone." 

The Widow (first printed in lOfj'i) act iv. sc. 2, p. 42. 



Capt. Jen. Wliat stands he upon, then, with a 
pox, God bless us? 

Doll. A leg and a calf ! I have had better of a 
butcher forty times for carrjdng a body ; not worth 
begging by a barber-surgeon. 

Bell. Very good ; you draw me and quarter me, 
fates keep me from hanging ! 

Doll. And which most turns up a woman's 
stomach, thou art an old hoary man ; thou hast gone 
over the bridge of many years, and now art ready 
to drop into a grave : what do I see then in that 
withered face of thine ? 

Bell. Wrinkles, gravity. 

Doll. Wretchedness, grief : old fellow, thou hast 
bewitched me, I can neither eat for tliee nor sleep 
for thee, nor lie quietly in my bed for thee. 

Capt. Jen. Uds blood, I did never see a white 
flea before. I will cling you. 

Doll. I was born sure in the dog-days, I 'm so 
unlucky : I, in whom neither a flaxen hair, yellow 
beard, French doublet, nor Spanish hose, youth nor 
personage, rich face nor money, could ever breed a 
true love to any, ever to any man, am now besotted, 
doat, am mad, for the carcase of a man ; and, as if 
T were a bawd, no ring pleases me but a death's 
head *. 

* as if J were a bawd, no ring pleases me but a death's head.'\ 
The bawds of those days, probably from an afifeclation of piety, 
used to wear rings with death's heads on them, as several pas- 
sages from old writers might be adduced to shew. 



Capt. Jen. Sesu, are imen so arsy varsy ! 

Bell, Mad for me ! why, if the worm of lust 
were wriggling witliin me as it does in others, dost 
think 1' d crawl upon thee ? would I low after thee, 
that art a common calf-bearer ? 

Doll. I confess it. 

Capt. Jen. Do you? are you a town-cow, and 
confess you bear calves ? 

Doll. I confess I have been an inn for any 

Capt. Jen. A pogs a' your stable room! is your 
inn a bawdy-house, now ? 

Doll. I confess, (for I ha' been taught to hide 
nothing from my surgeon, and thou art he,) I con- 
fess that old stinking surgeon like thyself, whom 
I call father, that Hornet, never sweat for me ; I 'm 
none of his making. 

Capt. Jen. You lie, he makes you a punk, Hornet 

Doll. He 's but a cheater, and I the false die he 
plays withal. I pour all my poison out before thee, 
because hereafter I will be clean. Shun me not, 

But the wearing of such rings was not confined to those motherly 
gentlewomen : " the olde Countesse spying on the finger of 
Seignior Cosimo a Ring with a Death's head ingriiven, circled 
with this Posie, Gressus ad vitam, demaunded whether hee adorde 
the Signet for profit or pleasure : Seignior Cosimo speaking in 
truth as his conscience wild him, told her, that it was a favour 
which a Gentlewoman had bestowed upon him, and that onely 
hee wore it for her sake." Greene's Farewell tu Fullie, Sig. B2, 
ed. 1617. 


loath me not, mock me not. Plagues confound thee, 
I hate thee to the pit of hell, yet if thou goest thither, 
I '11 follow thee, run, ay*, do what thou canst, I '11 
run and ride over the world after thee. 

Capt. Jen. Cockatrice ! — You, Mistress Sala^ 
manders, that fear no Lurning, let my mare and my 
mare's horse, and my coach, come running home 
again, and run to an hospital and your surgeons, 
and to knaves and panders, and to the tivel and his 
tame too. 

Doll. Fiend, art thou raised to torment me ? 

Bell. She loves you, Captain, honestly. 

Capt. Jen. I '11 have any man, oman, or cild, by 
his ears, that says a common drab can love a sen- 
tleman honestly. I Avill sell my coach for a cart to 
have you to punk's hall, Pridewell. I sarge you 
in Apollo's name, whom you belong to, see her 
forthcoming, till I come and tiggle her by and by. 
'S blood, I was never cozened with a more rascal 
piece of mutton, since I came out a' the Lawer 
Countries. [Exit. 

Bell. My doors are open for thee : begone, aao- 

Doll. This goat's-pizzle of thine — 

Bell. Away ! I love no such implements in my 

Doll. Doest not ? am I but an implement ? By 
all the maidenheads that are lost in London in a 
year, (and that 's a great oath,) for this trick, other 

* a;/.] The old copy '■ atjdc.'' 


manner of women than myself shall come to this 
house only to laugh at thee ; and if thou wouldest 
labour thy heart out, thou shalt not do withal *. 

Enter Servant. 

Bell. Is this my poetical fury ! — How now, sir ? 

Serv. Master Mayberry and his wife, sir, i' th' 
next room. 

Bell. What are they doing, sir ? 

Serv. Nothing, sir, that I see ; but only would 
speak with you. 

Bell. Enter 'em. — [Exit Servant.] — This house 
\^ill be too hot for me: if this wench cast me into 
these sweats, I must shift myself for pure necessity. 
Haunted with sprites in my old days ! 

Enter Mayberry, booted, and Mistress Mayberry. 

May. a comedy ! a Canterbury Tale smells not 
half so sweet as the comedy I have for thee, old 
poet : thou shalt write upon 't, poet. 

Bell. Nay, I will write upon 't if 't be a comedy, 
for I have been at a most villanous female tragedy : 
come, the plot, the plot. 

May. Let your man give you the boots presently : 

* thou shalt not do withal.~\ i. e. thou slialt not be able to 
help it. " It is uiy infirmity, and I cannot doe wit hall, to die for 't." 
Chapman's May- Day, 1611, Sig. A 4. " Beare witnes my 
masters, if hee dye of a snrfet, I cannot due wiihall, it is his owne 
seeking, not mine." Nash's Have with you to Saffron-walden, 
ed. 1596, Sig. G4. 


the plot lies in "Ware, my white * poet. Wife, thou 
and I this night will have mad sport in Ware ; mark 
me well, wife, in Ware. 

Mist. May. At your pleasure, sir. 

May. Nay, it shall be at your pleasure, Avife. 
Look you, sir, look you : Featherstone's boy, like an 
honest crack-halter, laid open all to one of my pren- 
tices, for boys,you know, like women,love to be doing. 

Bell. Very good : to the plot. 

May. Featherstone, like a crafty mutton-monger, 
persuades Greenshield to be run through the body. 

Bell. Strange, through the body ! 

May. Ay, man, to take physic : he does so, he 's 
put to his purgation. Then, sir, what does me 
Featherstone but counterfeits a letter from an inn- 
keeper of Doncaster, to fetch Greenshield (who is 
needy, you know) to a keeper's lodge in Enfield- 
chase, a certain uncle, where Greenshield should 
receive money due to him in behalf of his wife. 

Bell. His Avife ! is Greenshield married ? I have 
heard him swear he was a bacHelor. 

Mist. May. So have I, a hundred times. 

* u'hile.^ Was employed formerly as an epithet to express 
fondness : '• white boy," '• white son," and " white girl," occur 
frequently in our old writers. I do not remember to have found 
it in any author after the time of poor mad Lee, who uses it in a 
strange passage of the Dedication of his Rival Queens, to the 
Earl of Mulgrave. 

But as Mayberry a little after calls Bellamont " my little hoary 
poet," it is possible that " w/<2Ve " in the present passage may 
mean hoari/. 


May. The knave has more wives than the Turk ; 
he has a wife almost in every shire in England : 
this parcel gentlewoman is that innkeeper's daughter 
of Doncaster, 

Bell. Hath she the entertainment of her fore- 
fathers ? will she keep all comers company ? 

Mat. She helps to pass away stale capons, sour 
wine, and musty provender. But to the purpose : 
this train was laid by the baggage herself, and 
Featherstone, w-ho it seems makes her husband a 
unicorn ; and to give fire to 't, Greenshield, like an 
arrant wittol, entreats his friend to ride before his 
wife and fetch the money, because, taking bitter 
pills, he should prove but a loose fellow if he went, 
and so durst not go. 

Bell. And so the poor stag is to be hunted in 

May. No, sir ; master poet, there you miss the 
plot. Featherstone and my lady Greenshield are 
rid to batter away their light commodities in Ware ; 
Enfield-chase is too cold for 'em. 

Bell. In Ware ! 

May. In dirty Ware. I forget myself. Wife, on 
with your riding-suit, and cry Northward ho! as 
the boy at Paul's says* : let my prentice get up be- 

* cry Northward hu ! as the boy at Paufs says.'\ I presume 
Paul's Wharf is meant : " Paul's IVharf, or St. Benets Paul's 
Wharf, a noted Stairs for Watermen." 

Stow's Survey of London, 8(C. B iii. p. 229, ed. 1720. 
" I 'le take water at Puuls-wkarfe and overtake you." 

Middleton's Chast Mayd in Chcaprside., 1630, Sig. H 3. 


fore thee, and man thee to Ware ; lodge in the inn 
I told thee ; spur, cut, and away. 

Mist. May. Well, sir. [Exit. 

Bell. Stay, stay ; what 's the bottom of this 
riddle ? why send you her away? 

May. For a thing, my little hoary poet. Look 
thee, I smelt out my noble stinker Greenshield in 
his chamber, and as though my heart-strings had 
been cracked, I wept and sighed, and thumped and 
thumped, and raved and randed and railed, and told 
him how my wife was now grown as common as 
baibery*, and that she had hired her tailor to ride 
with her to Ware, to meet a gentleman of the court. 

Bell. Good ; and how took he this drench 
down ? 

May. Like eggs and muscadine, at a gulp. He 
cries out presently, did not I tell you, old man, that 
she 'd win my game when she came to bearing ? he 
rails upon her, wills me to take her in the act, to 
put her to her white sheet, to be divorced, and for 
all his guts are not fully scoured by his pothecary, 
he 's pulling on his boots, and v/ill ride along with 
us. Let 's muster as many as we can. 

Bell. It will be excellent sport, to see him and 
his own wife meet in Ware, will "t not ? Ay, ay, 
we '11 have a whole regiment of horse with us. 

May. I stand upon thorns till I shake him by th' 
horns. Come, boots, boy ! we must gallop all the 

* baibery.'\ Babery means finery fit to please a babe ; but 
rjy. " bribery.'' 


way, for the sin, you know, is done with turning 
up the white of an eye : will you join your forces ? 
Bell. Like a Hollander against a Dunkirk. 
May. March then. This curse is on all lechers 
They give horns, and at last horns are their own. 

Enter Captain Jenkins and Allum. 

Capt. Jen. Set the best of your little diminutive 
legs before, and ride post, I pray. 

Allum. Is it possible that Mistress Doll should 
be so bad ? 

Capt. Jen. Possible ! 'sblood, 'tis more easy for 
an Oman to be naught, than for a soldier to beg, 
and that 's horrible easy you know. 

Allum. Ay, but to coneycatch us aU so grossly 1 

Capt. Jen. Your Norfolk tumblers are but zanies 
to coneycatching punks. 

Allum. She gelded my purse of fifty pounds in 
ready money. 

Capt. Jen. I will geld all the horses in five hun- 
dred shires but I will ride over her and her cheaters, 
and her Hornets. She made a stark ass of my 
coach-horse ; and there is a putter- box whom she 
spread thick upon her white bread, and eat him up ; 
I tliiiik she has sent the poor fellow to Gelder-land : 
but I will marse pravely in and out, and pack again, 
upon all the low countries in Christendom, as Hoi- 


land and Zealand and Netherland, and Cleveland 
too ; and I will be drunk and cast with Master Hans 
Van Belch but I will smell him out. 

Alluai. Do so, and we'll draw all our arrows of 
revenge up to the head but we '11 hit her for her 

Capt. Jen. I will traw as petter and as urse 
weapons as arrows up to the head, lug you; it shall 
be warrants to give her the whip-deedle, 

Allum. But now she knows she 's discovered, 
she '11 take lier bells* and fly out of our reach. 

Capt. Jen. Fly with her pells ! ounds, I know a 
parish that sal tag down all the pells and sell 'em 
to Captain Jenkins, to do him good ; and if pell will 
fly, we '11 fly too, unless the pell-ropes hang us. 
Will you amble up and down to master Justice by my 
side, to have this rascal Hornet in corum, and so to 
make her hold her whore's peace ? 

Allum. I '11 amble or trot with you, captain. 
You told rae she threatened her champions should 
cut for her : if so, we may have the peace of her. 

Capt. Jen. O mon dieu ! Daw gwyn !t Follow 
your leader. Jenkins shall cut and slice as worse as 
they : come, T scorn to have any peace of her or of 
any oman:{:, but open wars. [^Exeunt. 

* take her bells, Sfcl] i. dike a falcon. 

f Diiw gwyn.^ i. e. white God : the old copy " u dguin." 

\ omati.^ The old copy, " onam.'' 



Enter Bellamoxt, Mayberry, Greenshield, 
Philip, Leverpool, and Chartley, all booted. 

Bell. What, vAW these young gentlemen to help 
us to catch this fresh salmon, ha ? Philip, are they 
thy friends ? 

Phil. Yes, sir. 

Bell. We are beholding to you gentlemen that 

you '11 fill our consort ; I ha'* seen your faces me- 

thinks before, and I cannot inform myself where. 

Lever. \ 

r^ >May be so, sir, 

Chart. J "^ ' 

Bell. Shall 's to horse? here 's a tickler: 
heigh, to horse ! 

May. Come, switch, and spurs ! let 's mount our 
chevals : merry, quoth a.' 

Bell. Gentlemen, shall I shoot a fool's bolt out 
among you all, because we '11 be sure to be merry ? 

Omnes. What is 't ? 

Bell. For mirth on the highway will make us 
rid ground! faster than if thieves were at our tails. 

* Aa'] The old copy " hoT 

f rid ground?[ i. e. get over ground : the expression is now, 
I believe, obsolete ; and I was surprised to find it used so recently 
as in a letter from Richardson, the novelist, to Lady Bradshaigh ; " a 
regular even pace, stealing away ground, rather than seeming to 
rid it." Correspondence, vol. iv. p. 291. 


What say ye to this ? let 's all practise jests one 
against another, and he that has the best jest thrown 
upon liim, and is most galled, between our riding 
forth and coming in, shall bear the charge of the 
whole journey. 

Omnes. Content, i' faith. 

Bell. We shall fit one a' you with a coxcomb at 
Ware, I believe. 

May. Peace. 

Green. Is 't a bargain ? 

Omnes. And hands clapt upon it. 

Bell. Stay, yonder 's the Dolphin without Bi- 
shop's-gate, where our horses are at rack and 
manger, and we are going past it. Come, cross 
over : and what place is this ? 

May, Bedlam, is 't not ? 

Bell. Where the madmen are : I never was 
amongst them: as you love me, gentlemen, let 's see 
what Greeks are within. 

Green. We shall stay too long. 

Bell. Not a whit : Ware will stay for our 
coming, I warrant you. Come, a spurt and away ! 
let 's be mad once in our days. This is the door. 

Enter Fullmoon. 

May. Save you, sir : may we see some a' your 
mad folks 1 do you keep 'em ? 
Full. Yes. 

Bell. Pray, bestow your name, sir, upon us. 
Full. My name is Fullmoon. 


Bell. You well deserve this office, good Master 
FuUmoon: and what madcaps have you in your 

Full. Divers. 

Enter </fe Musician.* 

May. Gods so, see, see ! what 's he walks yonder ? 
is he mad ? 

Full. That 's a musician : yes, he 's besides him- 

Bell. A musician ! how fell he mad, for God's 
sake ? 

Full. For love of an Italian dwarf. 

Bell. Has he been in Italy, then ? 

Full. Yes, and speaks, they say, all manner of 

Enter the Bawd. 

Omnes. God's so, look, look ! what 's she ? 

Bell. The dancing bear, a pretty well-favoured 
little woman. 

Full. They say, but I know not, that she was a 
bawd, and was frighted out of her wits by fire. 

Bell. May we talk with 'em, Master Fullmoon ? 

Full. Yes, and you will. I must look about, for 
I have unruly tenants. \_Exit. 

Bell. What have you in this paper, honest 
friend ? 

* the Musician.'] The old copy, bv a misprint, " Phuition.'' 


Green. Js this he has all manner of languages, 
yet speaks none ? 

Bawd. How do you, Sir Andrew ? will you send 
for some aqua-vitae for me ? I have had no drink 
never since the last great rain that fell. 

Bell. No ! that 's a lie. 

Bawd. Nay, by gad then you lie, for all y' are 
Sir Andrew. I was a dapper rogue in Portingal 
voyage*, not an inch broad at the heel, and yet thus 
high: I scorned, I can tell you, to be drunk with 
rain-water then, sir, in those golden and silver days ; 
I had sweet bits then, Sir Andrew. How do you, 
good brother Timothy ? 

Bell, You have been in much trouble since that 
voyage ? 

Bawd. Never in Bridewell, I protest, as I 'm a 
virgin, for I could never abide that Bridewell, I pro- 
test. I was once sick, and I took my water in a 
basket, and carried it to a doctor's. 

Philip. In a basket ! 

Bawd. Yes, sir: you arrant fool, there was a 
urinal in it. 

Philip. I cry you mercy. 

* Portingal voyage.^ The Portugal voyage was tlie expedi- 
tion in 1589. consisting of one iiundred and eighty vessels, and 
twenty-one thousand men. commanded by Sir Francis Drake and 
Sir John Norris : it is generally said to have been undertaken for 
the purpose of seating Antonio on the throne of Portugal, but the 
brave volunteers who composed it were most probably excited to 
the enterprise by the wish of revenging themselves on Spain, and 
by the hopes of gain and glory. 

NOliTHW.VIlU HO. 22'. 

Bawd. The doctor told me I was with child. 
How many lords, knights, gentlemen, citizens, and 
others, promised me to be godfathers to that child ! 
'twas not God's will: the prentices made a riot upon 
my glass windows, the Shrove-Tuesday foUowng*, 
and I miscarried. 

Omnes. O, do not weep ! 

Bawd. I ha' cause to weep : I trust gentle- 
women their diet sometimes a fortnight, lend gen- 
tlemen hoUand shirt.s, and they sweat 'em out at 
tennis, and no restitution, and no restitution. But 
I '11 take a new order : I will have but six stewed 
prunes in a dish and some of Mother AVall's cakesf ; 
for my best customers are tailors. 

Oaines. Tailors I ha, ha ! 

Bawu. Ay, tailors : give me your London pren- 
tice ; your country gentlemen are grown too politick. 

* the prentices made a riot upon my glass windows, the Shrove- 
Tuesday following.'\ Shrove-Tuesday was a holiday for appren- 
tices, during which they used to be exceedingly riotous, and to 
attempt to demolish houses of bad fame : 

" It was the day of all dayes in the yeare, 
That unto Bacchus hath his dedication, 
IVhen mad Iraynd Pientises, that no men feare, 
O^rethrow the dens of bawdie recreation''' 

Pasquils Palinodia, 1634, Sig. D. 

t Mother IValFs cakes.'\ I learn where this dame resided 

from the following passage of Haughton's English-men for my 

money, 1G16, "' 1 have the scent of London-stone as full in my 

nose, as Abchurch-lane o{ mother IVulles Pasties." Sig. G. 



Bell. But what say you to such young gentle- 
men as these are ? 

Bawd. Foh ! they, as soon as they come to their 
lands, get up to London, and like squibs that run 
upon lines *, they keep a spitting of fire and 
cracking till they ha' spent all ; and when my 
squib is out, what says his punk ? foh, he stinks I 
Methought this other night I saw a pretty sight 

Which pleased me much, 
A comely country maid, not squeamish nor afraid 

To let gentlemen touch : 
I sold her maidenhead once, and I sold her maid- 
enhead twice. 
And I sold it last to an alderman of York, 
And then I had sold it thrice. 
Must. You sing scurvily. 

* iike squibs that run upon lines, 4"c.] So Marston, in his 
Parasitaster, or the Fawne, 1606 ; 

" Page. There be squibs, sir, which squibs running upon lines, 
like some of our gawdie Gallants, sir, keepe a smother, sir, with 
flishing and flashing, and in the end, sir, they doe, sir 

Nymphadoro. What, sir ? 

Page. Stink, sir." Sig. B. 

In A Rich Cabinet, with Variety of Inventions, &c., 1651, by 
J. White, are instructions " How to make your fireworks to run 
upon a line backward and foruard." Sig. I 2. 

t 3Jusician.1 Before the preceding song in the old copy is a 
stage-direction, Enter the Musition, but he had not quitted the 


Bawd. Marry, muff, sing thou better, for I '11 
go sleep my old sleeps. [^Exit. 

Bell. What are you adoing, my friend ? 

Mus. Pricking, pricking. 

Bell. What do you mean by pricking ? 

Mus. A gentleman-like quality. 

Bell. This fellow is somewhat prouder and sul- 
lener than the other. 

May. O, so be most of your musicians. 

Mus. Are my teeth rotten ? 

Oaines. No, sir. 

Mus. Then I am no comfit-maker, nor vintner : 
I do not get wenches in my drink. Are you a mu - 
sician ? 

Bell. Yes. 

Mus. We "11 be sworn brothers, then, look you, 
sweet rogue. 

Green. God 's so, now I think upon 't, a jest is 
crept into my head : steal away, if you love me. 

\_Exeunt Greenshield, Mayberry, Philip, Leverpool, 
and Chartley. Musician sings. 

Mus. Was ever any merchant's band set better ? 
I set it. Walk, I'm a cold : this white satin is too 
thin unless it be cut, for then the' sun enters. Can 
you speak Italian too ? sapete Italiano ? 

Bell. Un poco. 

Mus. 'Sblood, if it be in you, I '11 poke it out of 
you : un poco ! Come, march ! lie here with me 
but till the fall of the leaf, and if you have but poco 



Italiano in you, I '11 fill you full of more poco : 

Bell. Come on. [Exeunt. 

Enter May s^KRY, Greenshield, Philip, Fullmoon, 
Lever POOL, and Chartley. 

Green. Good Master Mayberry, Philip, if you 
be kind gentlemen, uphold the jest : your whole 
voyage is paid for. 

May. Follow it, then. 

Full. The old gentleman, say you? why, he 
talked even now as well in his wits as I do myself, 
and looked as wisely. 

Green. No matter how he talks, but his pericra- 
nion's perished. 

Full. Where is he, pray ? 

Philip. Marry, with the musician, and is madder 
by this time. 

Chart. He's an excellent musician himself, you 
must note that. 

May. And having met one fit for his owti tooth, 
you see, he skips from us. 

Green. The troth is. Master Fullmoon, divers 
trains have been laid to bring him hither without 
gaping of people, and never any took effect till 

Full. How fell he mad ? 

Green. For a woman, look you, sir. Here's a 
crown, to provide his supper. He 's a gentleman of 


a very good house : you shall be paid well if you 
convert him. To-morrow morning l)edding raid a 
gown shall be sent in, and wood and coal. 

Full. Nay, sir, he must ha' no fire. 

Green. No ? why, look what straw you buy for 
him shall return you a whole harvest. 

Omnes. Let his straw be fresh and sweet, we 
beseech you, sir. 

Gkeen. Get a couple of your sturdiest fellows, 
and bind him, I pray, whilst we slip out of his 

Full. I '11 hamper him, I warrant, gentlemen. 


Omnes. Excellent. 

May. But how will my noble poet take it at my 
hands, to betray him thus ? 

Omnes. Fob, 'tis but a jest. He comes. 

Enter the Musician and Bellamont. 

Bell. Perdonate mi, si io dimando del vostro 
nome. — O, whither shrunk you ? I have had such 
a mad dialogue here. 

Omnes. We ha' been with the other mad folks. 

May. And what says he and his prick-song ? 

Bell. We " were up to the ears in Italian i' 

Omnes. In Italian ! O good Master Bellamont, 
let 's hear him. 


Enter Fullmoon arid two Keepers : they lay hold on 
Bellamont, while Mayberry, Greenshield, Philip, 
Leverpool and Chartley steal aivay. 

Bell. How now ! 'sdeath, what do you mean? 
are you mad ? 

Full. Away, sirrah. — Bind him ; hold fast. — 
You Avant a wench, sirrah, do you ? 

Bell. What wench? will you take mine arms 
from me, being no heralds ? let go, you dogs. 

Full. Bind him. — Be quiet : come, come, dogs! 
fie, and a gentleman. 

Bell. Master Mayberry, Philip, Master May- 
beriy, uds foot ! 

Full. I '11 bring you a wench : are you mad for 
a wench ? 

Bell. I hold my life my comrades have put this 
fool's cap upon thy head, to gull me : I smell it 
now. Why, do you hear, Fullmoon, let me loose, 
for I 'm not mad ; I 'm not mad, by Jesu. 

Full. Ask the gentlemen that. 

Bell. By th' Lord I 'm as well in my wits as any 
man i' th' house, and this is a trick put upon thee 
by these gallants in pure knavery. 

Full. I'll try that ; answer me to tKis question — 
loose his arms a little — look you, sir ; three geese 
nine pence, every goose three pence, what 's that a 
goose, roundly, roundly, one with another ? 

Bell. 'Sfoot, do you bring your geese for me 
to cut up ? \_Strikes him soundly, and kicks him. 



Enter Mayberry, Greenshield, Philip, Lever- 
pool, and Chartley. 

Omnes. Hold, hold!— Bind him. Master Full- 

Full. Bind him you : he has paid me all. I 11 
have none of his bonds, not I, unless I could recover 
them better. 

Green. Have I given it you, master poet ? did 
the lime -bush take ? 

May. It was his warrant sent thee to Bedlam, 
old Jack Bellamont : and. Master Full-i'-th'-moon 
our warrant discharges him. Poet, we '11 all ride 
upon thee to Ware, and back again, I fear, to thy 

Bell. If you do, I must bear you. Thank you. 
Master Greenshield, I Avill not die in your debt. 
Farewell, you mad rascals. To horse, come. 'Tis 
well done, 'twas well done. You may laugh, you 
shall laugh, gentlemen. If the gudgeon had been 
swallowed by one of you it had been vile, but by gad 
'tis nothing, for your best poets, indeed, are mad for 
the most part. Farewell, goodman Fullmoon. 

Full. Pray, gentlemen, if you come by, call in. 


Bell. Yes, yes, when they are mad. Horse 
yourselves now, if you be men. 

May. He gallop must that after women rides ; 
Get our wives out of town, they take long strides. 


232 NO|{'rIl^vAnl) no. 


Enter Mayberry and Bkllamont. 

May. But why have you brought us to the wrong 
inn, and withal possessed Greenshield that my wife is 
not in town, when my project was, that I would have 
brought him up into the chamber where young Fea- 
therstone and his wife lay, and so all his artillery 
sliould have recoiled into his own bosom ? 

Bell. O, it will fall out far better: you shall see 
my revenge will liave a more neat and unexpected 
conveyance. He hath been all up and down the 
town to enquire for a Londoner's wife : none such 
is to be found, for I have mewed your wife up 
already. Marry, he hears of a Yorkshire gentle- 
woman at next inn, and that 's all the commodity 
Ware affords at this instant. Now, sir, he very 
politickly imagines that your wife is rode to Pucker- 
idge, five mile further, for, saith he, in such a town 
where hosts will be familiar, and tapsters saucy, and 
chamberlains worse than thieves' intelligencers, 
they '11 never put foot out of stirrup ; either at Puck- 
eridge or Wade's-Mill, saith he, you shall find them ; 
and because our horses are weary, he 's gone to 
take up post-horse. My counsel is only this, — when 
he comes in, feign yourself very melancholy, swear 
you will ride no farther : and this is your part of 


the comedy : the sequel of the jest sliall come like 
money borrowed of a courtier, and paid within the 
day, a thing strange and unexpected. 

May. Enough, I ha 't. 

Bell. He comes. 

Enter Greenshielo. 

Green. Come, gallants, the post-horse are ready ; 
'tis but a quarter of an hour's riding ; we '11 ferret 
them and firk them, in faith. 

Bell. Are they grown politick? when do you 
see honesty covet corners, or a gentleman that 's no 
thief lie in the inn of a carrier? 

May. Nothing hath undone my wife but too much 

Bell. She was a pretty piece of a poet indeed, 
and in her discourse would, as many of your gold- 
smiths' wives do, draw her simile from precious 
stones so wittily, as redder than your ruby, harder 
than your diamond, and so from stone to stone in 
less time than a man can draw on a strait boot, as 
if she had been an excellent lapidary. 

Green. Come, mil you to horse, sir? 

May. No, let her go to the devil and she will : 
I '11 not stir a foot further. 

Green. God 's precious, is 't come to this ? Per- 
suade him, as you are a gentleman: there will be 
ballads made of him, and the burthen thereof will 


If you had rode out five mile forward, 
He had found the fatal house of Brainford north- 
O hone, hone, hone, O nonero. 

Bell. You are merry, sir. 

Green. Like your citizen, I never think of my 
debts, vi^hen I am a horseback. 

Bell. You imagine you are riding from your 

Green. Good in faith. Will you to horse ? 

May. I '11 ride no further. [Exit. 

Green. Then I '11 discharge the postmaster. 
Was 't not a pretty wit of mine, master poet, to 
have had him rode into Puckeridge with a horn 
before liim ? ha, was 't not ? 

Bell. Good sooth, excellent: I was dull in ap- 
prehending it. But come, since we must sta}'', we 11 
be merry. Chamberlain, call in the music, bid the 
tapsters and maids come up and dance : what ! we '11 
make a night of it. 

Enter with Chamberlain, Fiddlers, Tapsters, 
and Maids. 

Hark you, masters, I have an excellent jest to make 
old Mayberry merry : 's foot we 'Jl have him merry. 

Green. Let 's make him drunk then : a simple 
catching wit I ! 

Bell. Go thy Avays : I know a nobleman would 
take such a delight in thee. 

Green. Whv, so he would in his fool. 


Bell. Before God, but he would make a differ- 
ence : he would keep you in satin. But as I was 
a saying, we '11 have him merry. His ^vife is gone 
to Puckeridge : 'tis a wench makes him melancholy, 
'tis a wench must make him merry : we must help 
him to a wench. When your citizen comes into his 
inn, wet and cold, dropping, either the hostess or 
one of her maids warms his bed, pulls on his night 
cap, cuts his corns, puts out the candle, bids him 
command aught, if he want aught ; and so after, 
master citizen* sleeps as quietly as if he lay in his 
own low-country of Holland, his own linen, I mean, 
sir. We must have a wench for him. 

Green. But where 's this wench to be found ? 
here are all the moveable petticoats of the house. 

Bell. At the next inn there lodged to-night' 

Green. God's precious, a Yorkshire gentlewoman. 
I ha't, I '11 angle for her presently : we '11 have him 

Bell. Procure some chamberlain to pander for 

Green. No, I '11 be pander myself, because we '11 
be merry. 

Bell. Will you, will you ? 

Green. But how ! be a pander ! as I am a gentle- 
man that were horrible. I '11 thrust myself into the 
outside of a falconer in town here ; and now I think 
on 't, there are a company of country players that 
are come to town here, shall furnish me with hair 
" cstizen.J The old copy, '• cittiner." 


and beard. If I do not bring lier ! — we '11 be 
wondrous merry. 

Beu.. About it : look you, sir, though she bear 
her far aloof, and her body out of distance, so her 
mind be coming, 'tis no matter^ 

Green. Get old Mayberry merry. That any man 
should take to heart thus the dovvnfal of a woman ! 
I think when he comes home, poor snail, he '11 not 
dare to peep forth of doors lest his horns usher him. 

Bell. Go thy ways. There be more in England 
wear large ears and horns than stags and asses. 
Excellent ! he rides post with a halter about his 

Enter Mayberry. 

May. How now ? will 't take ? 

Bell. Beyond expectation : I have persuaded him 
the only way to make you merry is to help you to 
a wench, and the fool is gone to pander his own 
wife hither. 

May. Why, he '11 know her. 

Bell. She hath been masked ever since she came 
into the inn for fear of discovery. 

May. Then she \\ know him. 

Bell. For that his own unfortunate wit helped 
my lazy invention, for he hath disguised himself 
like a falconer in town here, hoping in that pro- 
curing shape to do more good upon her than in the 
outside of a gentleman. 


May. Young Featherstone will know him. 

Bell. He 's gone into tlie town, and will not 
return this half hour. 

May. Excellent, if she would come ! 

Bell. Nay, upon my life she '11 come. When 
she enters, remember some of your young blood, 
talk as some of your gallant commoners will, dice 
and drink freely ; do not call for sack, lest it betray 
the coldness of your manhood, but fetch a caper now 
and then, to make the gold chink in your pockets : 
ay, so. 

May. Ha, old poet, let *s once stand to it for the 
credit of Milk-street ! Is my wife acquainted with 
this ? 

Bell. She "s perfect, and will come out upon her 
cue, I warrant you. 

May. Good wenches, in faith. Fill 's some more 
sack here. 

Bell. God 's precious, do not call for sack by 
any means. 

May. Why then give us a whole lordship for life 
in Rhenish, with the reversion in sugar. 

Bell. Excellent. 

May. It were not amiss if we were dancing. 

Bell. Out upon 't, I shall never do it. 

Enter Greenshield, disguised, wilh Kate. 

Green. Out of mine nostrils, tapster ; thou smel- 
lest, like Guildhall two days after Simon and Jude, 
of drink most horribly. Off with thy mask, sweet 


sinner of the north ; these masks are foils to good 
faces, and to bad ones they are like new satin out- 
sides to lousy linings. 

Kate. O, by no means, sir. Your merchant 
will not open a whole piece to his best customer: 
he that buys a woman must take her as she falls. 
I '11 unmask my hand ; here 's the sample. 

Green. Go to, then, old poet. I have ta'en her 
up already as a pinnace bound for the straits : she 
knows her burden yonder. 

Bell. Lady, you are welcome. Yon is the old 
gentleman, and observe him, he 's not one of your 
fat city chuffs, whose great belly argues that the 
felicity of his Hfe consists in capon, sack, and sincere 
honesty, but a lean, spai'e, bountiful gallant, one that 
hath an old wife and a young performance ; whose 
reward is not the rate of a captain newly come out 
of the Low-countries, or a Yorkshire attorney in 
good contentious practice, some angel : no, the pro- 
portion of your wealthy citizen to his wench is her 
chamber, her diet, her physic, her apparel, her 
painting, her monkey, her pander, her every thing. 
You '11 say, your young gentleman is your only 
service, that lies before you like a calf's head, Avith 
his brains some half yard from him ; but, I assure 
you, they must not only have variety of foolery, 
but also of wenches ; whereas your conscionable 
greybeard of Faringdon-within will keep himself 
to the ruins of one cast waiting-woman an age, and 
perhaps, when lie's past all other good works, to 


wipe out false weights and twenty i' th' hundred, 
marry her. 

Green. O, well bowled, Tom* ! we have prece- 
dents for 't. 

Kate. But I have a husband, sir. 

Bell. You have ! If the knave thy husband be 
rich, make him poor, that he may borrow money 
of this merchant, and be laid up in the Counter or 
Ludgate : so it shall be conscience in yourt old gen- 
tleman, when he hath seized all thy goods, to take 
the horn and maintain thee. 

Green. O, well bowled, Tom* ! we have prece- 
dents for 't. 

Kate. Well, if you be not a nobleman, you are 
some great valiant gentleman by your breathj and 
the fashion of your beard, and do but thus to make 
the citizen merry, because you owe him some 

Bell. O, you are a wag. 

May. You are very welcome. 

Green. He is ta'en ; excellent, excellent! there 's 
one will make him merry. Is it any imputation to 
help one's friend to a wench ? 

Bell. No more than at my lord's entreaty to help 
my lady to a pretty waiting woman. If he had 
given you a gelding, or the reversion of some mo- 
nopoly, or a new suit of satin, to have done this, 

* Tom.'] After this word, the old copy has a blank, thus ( ). 

+ your.] The old copy, " yoit," 

I breath.] The old copy, " bearth." 


happily your satin would have smelt of the pander : 
but wliat 's done freely, comes, like a present to an 
old lady, without any reward ; and what is done 
without any reward, comes, like wounds to a soldier, 
very honourably notwithstanding. 

May. This is my breeding, gentlewoman: and 
whither travel you ? 

Kate. To London, sir, as the old tale goes, to 
seek my fortune. 

May. Shall I be your fortune, lady ? 

Kate. O pardon me, sir ; I '11 have some young 
landed heir to be my fortune, for they favour she 
fools more than citizens. 

May. Are you married ? 

Kate. Yes, but my husband is in garrison i' th' 
Low-countries, is his colonel's bawd, and his cap- 
tain's jester : he sent me word over that he will 
thrive, for though his apparel lie i' th' Luinbard, he 
keeps his conscience i' th' muster-book. 

May. He may do his country good service, lady. 

Kate. Ay, as many of your captains do, that 
fight, as the geese saved the Capitol, only with 
prattling. Well, well, if I were in some nobleman's 
hands now, may be he would not take a thousand 
pounds for me. 

May. No? 

Kate. No, sir ; and yet may be at year's end 
would give me a brace of hundreth pounds to marry 
me to his baily or the solicitor of his law-suits — 
Who 's this, I beseech you ? 



Enter MisTB-Ess MATBERRy, her hair loose, xoiththe 

Host. I pray you, forsooth, be patient. 

Bell. Passion of my heart, Mistress Mayberry ! 
\_Exeunt Fiddlers, Tapsters, and Maids. 

Green. Now will she put some notable trick 
upon her cuckoldly husband. 

May. Why, how now, wife, what means this, ha ? 

Mist. May. Well, I am very well. O my unfor- 
tunate parents, Avould you had buried me quick, 
when you linked me to this misery ! 

May. O wife, be patient ! I have more cause 
to rail, \nfe. 

Mist. May. You have ! prove it, prove it. Where's 
the courtier you should have ta'en in my bosom ? I '11 
spit my gall in 's face, that can tax me of any dis- 
honour. Have I lost the pleasure of mine eyes, the 
sweets of my j'outh, the wishes of my blood, and the 
portion of my friends, to be thus dishonoured, to be 
reputed vild in London, whilst my husband prepares 
common diseases for me at Ware ? O God, O God ! 
Bell. Prettily well dissembled. 

Host. As I am true hostess, you are to blame, 
sir. What are you, masters ? I '11 know what you 
are afore you depart, masters. Dost thou leave thy 
chamber in an honest inn, to come and inveigle my 
customers ? And you had sent for me up, and 
kissed me and used me like an hostess, 'twould never 
have grieved me ; but to do it to a stranger ! 



Kate. I '11 leave you, sir. 

May. Stay. — Why, how row, sweet gentle- 
woman, cannot I come forth to breathe myself, but I 
must be haunted ? Rail upon old Bellamont, that 
he may discover them : you remember Feather- 
stone, Greenshield ? 

Mist. May. I remember them ? Ay, they are two 
as cogging, dishonourable, damned, forsworn, beg- 
garly gentlemen, as are in all London ; and there 's 
a reverend old gentleman, too, your pander, in my 

Bell. Lady, I will not, as the old gods were 
wont, swear by the infernal Styx ; but by all the 
mingled wine in the cellar beneath, and the smoke 
of tobacco that hath fumed over the vessels, I did 
not procure your husband this banqueting dish of 
sucket. Look you, behold the parenthesis.* 

Host. Nay, I 'II see your face, too. 

Kate. My dear unkind husband, I protest to 
thee I have played this knavish part only to be 

* behold the parenthesis."] I am not quite sure that I under- 
stand this, but I think the following quotation will illustrate it ; 

" Emilia. Why, my lord, the poeticall fiction of Venus kissing 
Adonis in the violet bed. 

Julio. Fore god 'tis true, and marke where the cuckoMlv knave 
Vulcan stands sneaking behinde the brake bush to watch am. 

Pu/ymetes. A prettie conceit, Julio ; doost see Vulcan with 
the horning parenthesis in his forehead ?" 

Day's Law-trickes, 1608. Sig. D 4. 

NORTHWARD no. '243 

Green. That I might le presently turned into 
a matter more solid than horn, into marble ! 

Bell. Your husband, gentlewoman ! why he 
never was a soldier. 

Kate. Ay, but a lady got him prickt for a cap- 
tain : I warrant you he will answer to the name of 
captain, though he be none ! hke a lady that will 
not think scorn to answer to the name of her first 
husband, though he were a soap-boiler. 
Green. Hang off, thou devil, away. 
Kate. No, no, you fled me t' other day ; 

When I was with child you ran away? 
But since I have caught you now — 
Green. A pox of your wit and your singing. 
Bell. Nay, look you, sir, she must sing, because 
we 11 be merry : 

What though you rode not five mile forward. 
You have found that fatal house at Brainford 

O hone hono nanero. 
Green. God refuse me*, gentlemen, you may 
laugh and be merry, but I am a cuckold, and I think 
you knew of it. — Who lay i' tli' segs with you to- 
night, wild duck ? 

Kate. Nobody Avith me, as I shall be saved ; but 
Master Featherstone came to meet me as far as 

Green. Featherstone ! 

* God refuse ?«<?.] See note f, vol. i. p. 17. 



May. See, the hawk that tiist stooped my phea- 
sant is killed by the spaniel that first sprang all of 
our side, wife. 

Bell, 'Twas a pretty wit of you, sir, to have had 
him rode into Puckeridge v.'ith a horn before him; 
ha, was 't not ? 

Green. Good. 

Bell. Or where a citizen keeps his house, you 
know, 'tis not as a gentleman keeps his chamber, 
for debt, but, as you said even now very wisely, lest 
his horns should usher him. 

Green. Very good, Featherstone, he comes. 

Enter Featherstone. 

Feath. Luke Greenshield, Master Mayberry, old 
poet, Moll and Kate, most happily encountered : 
uds life, how came you hither ? by my life, the man 
looks pale. 

Green, You are a villain, and I '11 make 't good 
upon you : I am no servingman to feed upon your 

Feath. Go to the ordinary, then. 

Bell. This is his ordinary, sir ; and in this she 
is like a London ordinary, her best getting comes by 
the box. 

Green. You are a damned villain. 

Feath. O, by no means. 

Green, No? Uds life, I '11 go instantly take a 
purse, be apprehended, and hanged for 't ; better 
tlian be a cuckold. 


Feath. Best first make your confession, sirrah. 

Green. 'Tis this ; thou hast not used me like a 

Feath. A gentleman ! thou a gentleman ! thou 
art a tailor. 

Bell. 'Ware peaching. 

Feath. No, sirrah, if you \nll confess aught, tell 
how thou hast wronged that virtuous gentlewoman : 
how thou layest at her two year together, to make 
her dishonest ;howthou wouldest send me thither 
with letters ; how duly thou wouldest watch the 
citizens' wives' vacation, which is twice a day, namely 
the exchange time, twelve at noon, and six at 
night ; and where she refused thy importunity and 
vowed to tell her husband, thou wouldest fall down 
upon thy knees, and entreat her for the love of 
heaven, if not to ease thy violent affection, at least 
to conceal it, to which her pity and simple virtue 
consented : how thou tookest her wedding ring 
from her ; met these two gentlemen at Ware ; 
feigned a quarrel ; and the rest is apparent. This 
only remains, what wrong the poor gentlewoman 
hath since received by our intolerable lie, I am most 
heartily sorry for, and to thy bosom will maintain 
all I have said to be honest. 

May. Victory, wife ! thou art quit by proclama- 

Bell. Sir, you are an honest man : I have known 
an arrant thief for peaching made an officer : give 
m e your hand, sir. 


Kate. O filthy, abominable husband, did you all 
this ? 

May. Certainly he is no captain ; he blushes. 

Mist. May. Speak, sir, did you ever know me 
answer your wishes ? 

Green. You are honest; very virtuously ho- 

Mist. May. I will then no longer be a loose 
woman : 1 have at my husband's pleasure ta'en 
upon me this habit of jealousy. I 'm sorry for you : 
virtue glories not in the spoil, but in the \'ictory. 

Bell. How say you by that, goody sentence? 
Look you, sir, you gallants visit citizens' houses, as 
the Spaniard first sailed to the Indies : you pretend 
buying of wares or selling of lands ; but the end 
proves 'tis nothing but for discovery and conquest 
of their wives for better maintenance. Why look 
you, was he aware of those broken patience* when 
j^ou met him at Ware and possessed him of the 
downfall of his wife ? You are a cuckold ; you have 
pandered your own wife to this gentleman ; better 
men have done it, honest Tom ; we have precedents 
for 't. Hie you to London. What is more Catho- 
lic i' the city than for husbands daily for to forgive 
the nightly sins of their bedfellows ? If you like 
not that course but to intend to be rid of her, rifle 
her at a tavernt, where you may swallow down 

* patience.'^ A misprint which 1 cannot set right. 
t rijle her at a tavern.'^ Our old writers u>ed rijle in the 
sense of raffle: so Chapman, — "Why then thus it shal be, 


some fifty wiseacres' sons and heirs to old tenements 
and common gardens, like so many raw yolks with 
muscadine to bedward. 

Kate. O filthy knave, dost compare a woman of 
my carriage to a horse ? 

Bell. And no disparagement ; for a woman to 
have a high forehead, a quick ear, a full eye, a wide 
nostril, a sleek skin, a straight back, a round hip, 
and so forth, is most comely. 

Kate. But is a great belly comely in a horse, 
sir ? 

Bell. No, lady. 

Kate. And Avhat think you of it in a woman, I 
pray you ? 

Bell. Certainly I am put down at my own wea- 
pon : I, therefore, recant the rifling. No, there 
is a new trade come up for cast gentlewomen, 
of periwig-making : let your wife set up i' th' 
Strand ! and yet I doubt whether she may or no, 
for they say the women have got it to be a corpora- 
tion. If you can, you may make good use of it, for 
you shall have as good a coming in by hair (though 

weele strike up a drumme, set up a tent, call people together, put 
crownes a peece, let's rifle for her." The Blinde begger of 
Alerandria, 1598, Sig. B 3. And Minsheu in his Guide into the 
tongues, ed. 1617, explains rifling to be "a kinde of game, where 
he that in casting doth throw most on the dice, takes up all that is 
laid down." Dr. Nott therefore is quite wrong, when in a note 
on his reprint of Dekker's Gull's Horn-Look, p. 165, hesays, that 
" any rifling"' means " ani/ cheating or plunderingj" 


it be but a falling commodity,) and by other foolisli 
tiring, as any between St. Clement's and Charing. 

Feath. Now you have run yourself out of breath, 
hear me. I protest the gentlewoman is honest ; 
and since I have wronged her reputation in meet- 
ing her thus privately, I '11 maintain her. Wilt thou 
hang at my purse, Kate, like a pair of Barbary 
buttons*, to open when "tis full, and close when 'tis 
empty ? 

Kate. I'll be divorced, by this Christian ele- 
ment : and because thou thinkest thou art a 
cuckold, lest I should make thee an infidel in caus- 
ing thee to believe an untruth, I '11 make thee a 

Bell. Excellent wench. 

Feath. Come, let 's go, sweet; the nag I ride 
upon bears double : we '11 to London. 

May. Do not bite your thumbs, sir. 

Kate. Bite his thumb ! I '11 make him do a 
thing worse than this : 

Come love me whereas I lay. 

Feath. What, Kate ? 

Kate. He shall father a child is none of his, 
O, the clean contrary way. 

Feath. O lusty Kate ! 

[_Exeunt Featlierstone and Kate. 

■* Barbary buttons.'] Moorish buttons, I believe, of gold or 
silver filigree work. 


May. Methought he said even now )ou were a 

Green. You shall hear more of that hereafter. 
I '11 make Ware and him stink ere he goes. If I 
be a tailor, the rogue's naked weapon shall not 
fright me : I '11 beat him and my wife both out a' 
th' town with a tailor's yard. \_Exit. 

May. O valiant Sir Tristram ! room there ! 

Enter Philip, Leverpool, and Chartley. 

Phil. News, father, most strange news out of 
the Low-countries : your good lady and mistress, 
that set you to work upon a dozen of cheese- 
trenchers, is new lighted at the next inn, and the 
old venerable gentlewoman's* father with her. 

Bell. Let the gates of our inn be locked up, 
closer than a nobleman's gates at dinner time. 

Omnes. Why, sir, why ? 

Bell. If she enter here, the house will be in- 
fected : the plague is not half so dangerous as a she- 
hornet. Philip, this is your shuffling a' the cards, 
to turn up her for the bottom card at Ware. 

Philip. No, as I 'm virtuous, sir : ask the two 

Leveu. No, in troth, sir. She told us, that in- 
quiring at London for you or your son, your man 
chalked out her way to Ware. 

Bell. I would Ware might clioke 'em both ! 

* ijenlkwuman's.^ The old copy, ■' i/cntleniaiis." 


Master Mayberry, my horse and I will take our 
leaves of you : I '11 to Bedlam again rather than 
stay her. 

May. Shall a woman make thee fly thy country ? 
Stay, stand to her, though she were greater than 
Pope Joan. What are thy brains conjuring for, 
my poetical bay-leaf eater ? 

Bell. For a sprite a' the buttery, that shall make 
us all drink with mirth, if I can raise it. Stay, the 
chicken is not fully hatched : hit, I beseech thee ; 
so, come. Will you be secret, gentlemen, and as- 
sisting ? 

Omnes. With brown bills, if you think good. 

Bell. What wall you say if by some trick we 
put this little hornet into Featherstone's bosom, and 
marry 'em together ? 

Omnes. Fuh I 't is impossible. 

Bell. Most possible. I'll to my trencher-woman ; 
let me alone for dealing mth her : Featherstone, 
gentlemen, shall be your patient. 

Oaines. How, how? 

Bell. Thus. 1 will close with this country ped- 
lar, Mistress Dorothy, that travels up and down, to 
exchange pins for coneyskins, very lovingly ; she 
shall eat of nothing but sweatmeats in my company, 
good words, whose taste when she likes, as I know 
she will, then will I play upon her with this artillery, 
— that a very proper man and a great heir, naming 
Featherstone, spied her from a \\indo\A-, when she 
lighted at her inn, is extremely fallen in love with 


her, vows to make her his wife, if it stand to her 
good liking, even in Ware ; but being, as most of 
your young gentlemen are, somewhat bashful, and 
ashamed to venture upon a woman 

May. City and suburbs can justify it : so, sir. 

Bell. He sends me, being an old friend, to un- 
dermine for him. I'll so whet the wench's stomach, 
and make her so hungry, that she sliall have an ap- 
petite to him, fear it not. Greenshield shall have 
a hand in it too ; and, to be revenged of his partner, 
will, I know, strike with any weapon. 

Lever. But is Featherstone of any means? else 
you undo him and her. 

Mat. He has land between Fulham and London : 
he would have made it over to me. To your charge, 
poet : give you the assault upon her, and send but 
Featherstone to me, I '11 hang him by the gills. 

Bell. He's not yet horsed sure. Philip, go thy 
ways, give fire to him, and send liim hither with a 
powder presently. 

Phil. He 's blown up already. {Exit. 

Bell. Gentlemen, you '11 stick to the device, and 
look to your plot ? 

Omnes. Most poetically : away to your quarter. 

Bell. I march : I will cast my rider, gallants. 
1 hope you see who shall pay for our voyage. [Exit. 

Enter Philip and Featherstone. 
May. That must he that comes liere. Master 


Featherstone, O, Master Featlierstone, you may 
now make your fortunes weigh ten stone of feathers 
more than ever they did! leap but into the saddle 
now, that stands empty for you, you are made for 

Lever. An ass, I '11 be sworn. 

Feather. How, for God's sake, how ? 

May. I would you had what I could wish you I 
I love you, and because you shall be sure to know 
where my love dwells, look you, sir, it hangs out at 
this sign : you shall pray for Ware , when Ware is 
dead and rotten. Look you, sir, there is as pretty 
a little pinnace struck sail hereby, and come in 
lately : she "s my kinswoman, my father's youngest 
sister, a ward ; her portion three thousand ; her 
hopes, if her grannam die without issue, better. 

Feath. Very good, sir. 

May. Her guardian goes about to marry her to 
a stonecutter ; and rather than she "11 be subject to 
such a felloAv, she 11 die a martyr : will you have al 
out ? She 's run away, is here at an inn i' th' town. 
What parts soever you have played with me, I see 
good parts in you ; and if you now will catch time's 
hair that 's put into your hand, you shall clap her 
up presently. 

Feath. Is she young, and a pretty wench ? 

Lever. Few citizens' wives are like her. 

Phil. Young ! why, I warrant sixteen hath scarce 
gone over her. 


Feath. 'S foot, where is she ? If I like her per- 
sonage as well as I like that which j^ou say belongs 
to her personage, I '11 stand thrumming of caps no 
longer, but board your pinnace whilst 't is hot. 

May. Away then with these gentlemen, Avith a 
French gallop, and to her ! Philip here shall run 
for a priest, and despatch you. 

Feath. Will you, gallants, go along? We may 
be married in a chamber for fear of hue and cry 
after her, and some of the company shall keep the 

May. Assure your soul she will be followed : 
away, therefore. [^Exeunt Featherstone, Philip, 
Leverpool, and Chartley.'] He 's in the Curtian 
gulf*, and swallowed horse and man. He will have 
somebody keep the door for him ! she '11 look to 
that. I am younger than I was two nights ago for 
this physic. How now ? 

Enter Captain Jenkins, Allum, Hans Van Belch, 
and others^ hooted. 

Capt. Jen. God pless you, is there not an arrant 
scurvy trab in your company, that is a sentlewoman 
born, sir, and can tawg Welch, and Dutch, and any 
tongue in your head ? 

May. How so ? Drabs in my company ! do I 
look like a drab-driver ? 

* He 'x in the Ciirlian ffu/f.lj Every schoolboy knows the story 
of M. Curtius. 


Capt. Jen. The trab will drive you, if she put 
you before her, into a pench-hole *. 

Allum. Is not a gentleman here, one master 
Bellamont, sir, of your company ? 

May. Yes, yes : come you from London ? he '11 
be here presently. 

Capt. Jen. Will he ? tawson, this oman hunts 
at his tail, like your little goats in Wales follow 
their mother. We have warrants here from master 
sustice of this shire, to show no pity nor mercy to 
her : her name is Doll. 

May. Why, sir, what has she committed ? I think 
such a creature is i' th' town. 

Capt. Jen. What has she committed ? ounds, 
she has committed more than manslaughters, for 
she has committed herself, God pless us, to ever- 
lasting prison. Lug you, sir, she is a punk : she 
shifts her lovers (as captains and Welch gentlemen 
and such,) as she does her trenchers ; when she 
has well fed upon 't, and that there is left nothing 
but pare bones, she calls for a clean one, and scrapes 
away the first. 

Enter Bellamont and Hornet, Wi7/t Doll hehxeen 
them, Featherstone, Greenshield, Kate, 
Philip, Leverpool, and Chartley. 

May. Gods so. Master Featherstone, what will 

* pench-hole.'\ He means hench-hok : see Malone's note on 
Antony and Cleopatra, act iv. sc. 7. 

NORTHWARD 110. 255 

you do ? here 's three come from London, to fetch 
away the gentlewoman with a warrant. 

Feather. All the warrants in Europe shall not 
fetch her now : she 's mine sure enough. What 
have you to say to her ? she 's my wife. 

Capt. Jen. Ow ! 's blood do you come so far to 
fish and catch frogs ? your wife is a tilt-boat ; any 
man or oman may go in her for money : she 's 
a coneycatcher. Where is my moveable goods 
called a coach, and my two wild peasts ? pogs on 
you, would they had trawn you to the gallows ! 

Allum. I must borrow fifty pound of you, mis- 
tress bride. 

Hans. Yau vro, and you make me de gheck, de 
groet fool : you heb mine gelt too ; war is it ? 

Doll. Out you base scums I come you to dis- 
grace me in my wedding shoes ? 

Feath. Is this your three-thousand-pound ward ? 
ye told me, sir, she was your kins\voman. 

May. Right, one of mine aunts *. 

Bell. Who pays for the northern voyage now, 

Green. Why do you not ride before my wife to 
London now ? The woodcock 's i' th' springe. 

Kate. O forgive me, dear husband ! I will never 
love a man that is worse than hanged, as he is. 

May. Now a man may have a course in your 
park ? 

* aunts.l See note *, p. 155. 


Fbath. He may, sir. 

Doll. Never, I protest : I will be as true to thee 
as Ware and Wade's-Mill are one to another. 

Feath. Well, it 's but my fate. Gentlemen, this 
is my opinion, it 's better to shoot in a how that has 
been shot in before, and will never start, than to 
draw a fair new one, that for every arrow will be 
warping. Come, wench, we are joined, and all the 
dogs in France shall not part us. I have some 
lands : those I '11 turn into money, to pay you, and 
you, and any. I '11 pay all that I can for thee, for 
I 'm sure thou hast paid me. 

Omnes. God give you joy. 

May. Come, let 's be merry. Lie you with your 
own wife, to be sure she shall not walk in her sleep. 
A noise of musicians*, chamberlain ! 
This night let 's banquet freely : come, we '11 dare 
Our wives to combat i' th' great bed in Ware. 

^Exeunt omnes. 

* A noise of musicians. "l See note *, p. 51. 



A Cure for a Cuckold. A pleasant Comedy, as it hath heeti 
several times Acted with great Applause. Written hy John Web- 
ster and William Rowley . Plaecre Cupin. London, Printed hy 
Tho. Johnson, and are to be sold by Francis Kirkman, at his Shop 
at the Sign of John Fletch r's Head, over against the Angel- 
Inne, on the Back-side of St. Clements without Temple Bar. 
1661. 4to. 

We have no other authority than that of Kirkman for attributing 
this play to Webster and Rowley : I believe, however, that it is 
rij^htly assigned. A great portion of it, which the authors meant 
for blank verse, Kirkman has printed as prose : in some passages 
the integrity of the text is very questionable. 

William Rowley, Webster's coadjn or in this drama, flourished 
in the reign of James the First. Meres mentions among the best 
writers of comedy, " Maister Rowley, once a rare Scholler of 
learned Pembrooke Hall in Cambridge," (^Palladis Tamia, Wits 
Treasury, Being the Second part of Wits Commonwealth, IfiQS, 
fol.28.3,) bulhe probably alludes to another dramatist of the same 
name, Samuel Rowley. He was an actor, it appears, as well as 
author, and is said to have been more excellent in comedy than 
in tragedy. " There was one Will. Rowley was Head of the 
Princes Company of Commedians in 1613 to 1616. See the 
Office Books of the Ld. Stanhope, Treasurer of the Chamber in 
those years, in Dr. Rich. Rawlinson's Possession." MS. note by 
Oldys on Langbaine's Ace. of Eng. Dram. Poets, in the Brit. 

Of his plays there remain four of which he was the sole author, 
— (the best of them, A new Wonder, a Woman never vext, was 
revived with alterations at Covent Garden in 1821, and received 
considerable applause,) — and twelve which he composed in con- 
junction with other writers, Day, Wilkins, Middleton, Fletcher, 
Massinger, Ford, Heywood, Dekker, and Webster. His name is 
associated with Shakespeare's on the title-page of The Birth of 
Merlin, but certainly the bard of Avon had no share in the produc- 
tion of that play. 




It Avas not long since I was only a book- 
reader, and not a bookseller, which quality (my for- 
mer employment somewhat failing, and I being un- 
\A411ing to be idle,) I have now lately taken on me. 
It hath been my fancy and delight, e'er since I knew 
anything, to converse \\ith books ; and the pleasure 
I have taken in those of this nature, viz. Plays, hath 
been so extraordinary, that it hath been much to 
my cost, for I have been, as we term it, a gatherer of 
plays for some years, and I am confident I have 
more of several sorts than any man in England, 
bookseller or other : I can at any time shew seven 
hundred in number, which is within a small matter 
all that were ever printed. Many of these I have 
several times over, and intend, as I sell, to purchase 
more; all, or any of which, I sliall be ready either 
to sell or lend to you upon reasonable considera- 

In order to the encreasing of my store, I have 
now this term printed and published three, viz. this 
called A Cure for a Cuckold, and another called The 
Thracian Wonder, and the third called Gammer Gur- 
ton's Needle. Two of these three were never printed, 
the third, viz.. Gammer Gurtons Needle, hath been 
formerly printed, but it is almost an hundred years 


since. As for this play, I need not speak anything 
in its commendation, the authors' names, Webster 
and Rowley, are (to knowing men) sufficient to 
declare its worth : several persons remember the act- 
ing of it, and say that it then pleased generally 
well ; and let me tell you in my judgment it is an 
excellent old play. The expedient of curing a cuck- 
old, after the manner set down in this play, hath 
been tried to my knowledge, and therefore I may 
say probatum est. I should, I doubt, be too tedious, 
or else I would say somewhat in defence of this, 
and in commendation of plays in general, but I 
question not but you have read what abler pens than 
mine have writ in their vindication. Gentlemen, I 
hope you will so encourage me in my beginnings, 
that I may be induced to proceed to do you service, 
and that I may frequently have occasion in this 
nature, to subscribe myself 

Your servant, 

Francis Kirkaian. 


gallants invited to the wedding. 

WooDROFF, a justice of the peace, father to Annabel. 

Fkanckford, a merchant, brother-in-law to Wood- 

Lessingham, a gentleman, in love with Clare. 

BoNviLE, a gentleman, the bridegroom and hus- 
band to Annabel. 





Rochfield, a young gentleman and a thief*. 

Compass, a seaman. 

Pettifog, 1 

T^ } two attornies. 

Dodge, j 

A Counsellor. 

Two Clients. 

Two Boys. 

A Sailor. 

Lucy, wife to Franckford, and sister to Woodrotf. 

Annabel, the bi'ide and wife to Bouvile. 

Clare, Lessingham's mistress. 

Urse, wife to Compass. 


A Waitingwoman. 

* a young gentleman and a thief. '\ I beg leave to observe, 
that it is Kirkinan who so characterizes Roclifielil. I give the 
dram. per. fromtiie old cojiy. 



Enter Lessingham and Clare. 

Less. This is a place of feasting and of joy, 
And, as in triumphs and ovations, here 
Nothing save state and pleasure. 

Clare. 'Tis confest. 

Less. A day of mirth and solemn jubilee 

Clare. For such as can be merry. 

Less. A happy nuptial. 
Since a like pair of fortunes suitable, 
Equality in birth, parity in years, 
And in affection no way different. 
Are this day sweetly coupled. 

Clare. 'Tis a marriage 

Less. True, lady, and a noble precedent 
Methinks for us to follow. Why should these 
Outstrip us in our loves, that have not yet 
Outgone us in our time ? if we thus lose 
Our best and not to be recover'd hours 
Unprofitably spent, we shall be held 
Mere truants in love's school. 

Clare. That 's a study 
In which I never shall ambition have 
To become graduate. 


Less. Lady, you are sad : 
This jovial meeting puts me in a spirit 
To be made such. We two are guests invited, 
And meet by purpose, not by accident. 
Where 's then a place more opportunely fit, 
In which we may solicit our own loves, 
Than before this example ? 

Clare. In a word, 
I purpose not to marry. 

Less. By your favour, — 
For as I ever to this present hour 
Have studied your observance, so from henceforth 
I now will study plainness, — I have lov'd you 
Beyond myself, misspended for your sake 
Many a fair hour which might have been employ 'd 
To pleasure or to profit ; have neglected 
Duty to them from whom my being came, 
My parents, but my hopeful studies most. 
I have stolen time from all my choice delights 
And robb'd myself, thinking to enrich you. 
Matches I have had offer'd, some have told me 
As fair, as rich, I never thought 'em so ; 
And lost all these in hope to find out you. 
Resolve me, then, for Christian charity ; 
Think you an answer of that frozen nature 
Is a sufficient satisfaction for 
So many more than needful services ? 

Clare. I have said, sir. 

Less. Whence might this distaste arise ? 
Be at least so kind to perfect me in that. 


Is it of some dislike lately conceiv'd 

Of this my person, which perhaps may grow 

From calumny and scandal ? if not that. 

Some late received melancholy in you ? 

If neither, your perverse and peevish will ? 

To which I most imply it. 

Clare. Be it what it can, or may be, tlius it is ; 
And with this answer pray rest satisfied. 
In all these travels, windings, and indents, 
Paths, and by-paths, which many have sought out, 
There 's but one only road, and that alone. 
To my fruition ; which whoso finds out, 
Tis like he may enjoy me, but that failing, 
I ever am mine own. 

Less. O, name it, sweet ! 
I am already in a labyrinth, 
Until you guide me out. 

Clare. I'll to my chamber. 
May you be pleas'd unto your mis-spent time 
To add but some few minutes ; by my maid 
You shall hear further from me. [Exit. 

Less. I '11 attend you. 
What more can I desire than be resolv'd 
Of such a long suspense ? Here 's now the period 
Of much fexpectation. 

Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lionel, and Grovek, 

Ray. What, you alone retir'd to privacy 


Of such a goodly confluence, all prepar'd 
To grace the present nuptials ! 

Less. I have heard some say, \ 

Men are ne'er less alone than when alone, 
Such power hath meditation. 

EusT. O, these choice beauties ! 
That are this day assembled ! but of all 
Fair Mistress Clare, the bride excepted still, 
She bears away the prize. 

Lion. And worthily, 
For, setting off her present melancholy. 
She is without taxation. 

Grov. I conceive 
The cause of her so sudden discontent. 

Ray. 'Tis far out of my way. 

Grov. I '11 speak it, then. 
In all estates, professions, or degrees. 
In arts or sciences, there is a kind 
Of emulation, likewise so in this. 
There 's a maid this day married, a choice beauty ; 
Now, mistress Clare, a virgin of like age, 
And fortunes correspondent, apprehending 
Time lost in her that 's in another gain'd, 
May upon this — for who knows women's thoughts — 
Grow into this deep sadness. 

Ray. Like enough. 

Less. You are pleasant, gentlemen, or else per- 
Though I know many have pursu'd her love 


Grov. And you amongst the rest, with pardon, 
Yet she might cast some more peculiar eye 
On some that not respects her. 

Less. That 's my fear, 
Which you now make your sport. 

Enter Waitingwoman. 

Wait. A letter, sir. 

Less. From whom ? 

Wait. My mistress. 

Less. She has kept her promise, 
And I \^ill read it, though I in the same 
Know my own death included. 

Wait. Fare you well, sir. [Exit. 

Less, {reads) Prove ail thy friends., find out the 
best and nearest, 
Kill for my sake that friend that loves thee dearest. 
Her servant, nay, her hand and character. 
All meeting in my ruin ! Read again. 
{Reads) Prove all thy friends ^ find out the best and 

Kill for my sake that friend that loves thee dearest. 
And what might that one be ? 'tis a strange diffi- 
And it will ask much counsel. \_Exit. 

Ray. Lessingham 
Hath left us on a sudden. 

EusT. Sure, the occasion 
Was of that letter sent him. 


Lion. It may be 
It was some challenge. 

Giiov. Challenge! never dream it : 
Are such things sent by women ? 

Ray. 'Twere an heresy 
To conceive but such a thought. 

Lion. Tush, all the ditFerence 
Begot this day must be at night decided 
Betwixt the bride and bridegroom. Here both come. 

Enter Woodroff, Annabel, Bonvile, Franck- 
FORD, Lucy, and Nurse. 

Wood. What did you call the gentleman we met 
But now in some distraction ? 

Bon. Lessingham ; 
A most approv'd and noble friend of mine, 
And one of our prime guests. 

Wood. He seem'd to me 
Somewhat in mind distemper'd. What concern 
Those private humours our so public mirth, 
In such a time of revels ? Mistress Clare, 
I miss her, too : why, gallants, have you sufFer'd 

Thus to be lost amongst you ? 

Anna. Dinner done, 
Unlcnown to any, she retir'd herself. 

Wood. Sick of the maid, perhaps, because she 
You, mistress bride, her school and playfellow, 
So suddenly turn'd wife. 


Franck. 'Twas shrewedly guess'd. 
Wood. Go, find her out. Fie, gentlemen, within 
The music plays unto th(? silent walls. 
And no man there to grace it : when I was young, 
At such a meeting, I have so bestirr'd me, 
Till I have made the pale green-sickness girls 
Blush like the ruby, and drop pearls apace 
Down from their ivory foreheads ; in those days 
I have cut capers thus high. Nay, in, gentlemen, 
And single out the ladies. 

Ray. Welladvis'd. 
Nay, mistress bride, you shall along with us, 
For without you all 's nothing. 

Anna. Willingly, 
With master bridegroom's leave. 

BoN. O, my best joy! 
This day I am your servant. 

Wood. True, this day ; 
She his, her whole life after, so it should be ; 
Only this day a groom to do her service. 
For which, the full remainder of his age. 
He may write master. I have done it yet, 
And so, I hope, still shall do. Sister Lucy, 
May I presume my brother Franckford can 
Say as much and truly ? 

Lucy. Sir, he may ; 
I freely give him leave. 

Wood. Observe that, brother ; 
She freely gives you leave : but who gives leave, 
The master or the servant ? 


Franck, You 're pleasant, 
And it becomes you well, but this day most, 
That having but one daughter, have bestovv'd her 
To your great hope and comfort. 

Wood. I have one : 
Would you could say so, sister ; but your barren- 
Hath given your husband freedom, if he please. 
To seek his pastime elsewhere. 

Lucy. Well, well, brother, 
Though you may taunt me, that have never yet 
Been blest with issue, spare my husband, pray. 
For he may have a by-blow, or an heir, 
That you never heard of. 

Franck. O fie, wife, make not 
My fault too public. 

Lucy. Yet himself keep within compass. 

Franck. If you love me, sweet 

Lucy. Nay, I have done. 

Wood. But if 
He have not, wench, I would he had the hurt 
I wish you both. Prithee, thine ear a little. 

Nurse. Your boy grows up, and 'tis a chopping 
A man even in the cradle. 

Franck. Softly, nurse. 

Nurse. One of the forward'st infants ! how it 
will crow. 
And chirrup like a sparrow ! I fear shortly 


It will breed teeth : you must provide him, therefore, 
A coral, AA^th a whistle and a chain. 

Franck. He shall have anything. 

Nurse. He 's now quite out of blankets. 

Franck. There 's a piece, 
Provide him what he wants ; only, good nurse, 
Prithee at this time be silent. 

Nurse. A charm to bind 
Any nurse's tongue that 's living. 

Wood. Come, we are miss'd 

Among the younger fry : gravity ofttimes 

Becomes the sports of youth, especially 

At such solemnities ; and it were sin 

Not in our age to show what we have bin. 



Enter Lessingham, sad^ with a letter in his hand. 
Less. Amicitia nihil dedit natura mnjus nee 
rarius : 
So saith my author.* If, then, powerful nature, 
In all her bounties shower'd upon mankind, 
Found none more rare and precious than this one 
We call friendship, O, to what a monster 
Would this transshape me ; to be made that he 
To violate such goodness 1 To kill any, 

« my author.} It may be dnulited if this quotation is to he 
found in any writer. I (and several gentlemen eminent for their 
acquaintance with Latin literature) have sought for it in vain. A 
passage somewhat resembling it occurs in Cicero. 



Had been a sad injunction ; but a friend, 
Nay, of all friends the most approv'd ! A task 
Hell, till this day, could never parallel. 
And yet this v/oman has a power of me 
Beyond all virtue, — virtue ! almost grace. 
What might her hidden purpose be in this ? 
Unless she apprehend some fantasy. 
That no such thing has being ; and as kindred 
And claims to crowns are worn out of the world, 
So the name friend : 't may be 'twas her conceit. 
I have tried those that have professed much 
For coin, nay, sometimes, slighter courtesies, 
Yet found 'em cold enough ; so, perhaps, she. 
Which makes her thus opinion'd. If in the former. 
And therefore better days, 'twas held so rare, 
Who knows but in these last and worser times 
It may be now with justice banish'd th' earth ? 
I 'm full of thoughts, and this my troubled breast 
Distemper'd with a thousand fantasies. 
Something I must resolve. I '11 first make proof 
If such a thing there be, which having found, 
'Twixt love and friendship 'twill be a brave fight. 
To prove in man which claims the greatest right. 

Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lionel, and Grover. 

Ray. What, Master Lessingham ! 
You that were wont to be compos 'd of mirth. 
All spirit and fire, alacrity itself, 
Like the lustre of a late bright-shining sun. 
Now wrapt in clouds and darkness ! 


Lion. Prithee, be merry ; 
Thy dulness sads the half part of the house, 
And deads that spirit which thou was wont to 

And, half spent, to give life to. 

Less. Gentlemen, 
Such as have cause for sport, I shall wish ever 
To make of it the present benefit. 
While it exists : content is still short-breath'd ; 
When it was mine, I did so, if now yours, 
I pray make your best use on 't. 
Lion. Riddles and paradoxes : 
Come, come, some crotchet 's come into thy pate. 
And I will know the cause on 't. 

Grov. So will I, 
Or I protest ne'er leave thee. 

Less. Tis a business* 
Proper to myself, one that concerns 
No second person. 

Grov. How 's that ? not a friend ? 

Less. Why, is there any such ? 

Grov. Do you question that ? what do you take 

me for? 
EusT. Ay, sir, or me ? 'Tis many months ago 
Since we betwixt us interchang'd that name, 
And, of my part, ne'er broken. 
Lion. Troth, nor mine. 
Ray. If you make question of a friend, I pray, 

* Tlie old ropy gives this speech to Eustace. 

T 2 


Number not me the last in your account, 
That would be crown'd in your opinion first. 

Less. You all speak nobly ; but amongst you 
Can such a one be found ? 

Ray. Not one amongst us 
But would be proud to wear the character 
Of noble friendship : in the name of which, 
And of all us here present, I entreat, 
Expose to us the grief that troubles you. 

Less. I shall, and briefly. If ever gentleman 
Sunk beneath scandal, or his reputation. 
Never to be recover'd, suiTer'd, and 
For want of one whom I may call a friend, 
Then mine is now in danger. 

Ray. I '11 redeem 't. 
Though with my life's dear hazard. 

EusT. I pray, sir, 
Be to us open-breasted. 

Less. Then 'tis thus. 
There is to be perform'd a monomachv, 
Combat or duel, time, place, and Aveapon, 
Agreed betwixt us. Had it touch'd myself, 
And myself only, T had then been happy. 
But I by composition am engag'd 
To bring with me my second, and he too. 
Not as the law of combat is, to stand 
Aloof and see fair play, bring oiF his friend, 
But to engage his person : both must fight, 
And either of them dangerous. 


EusT. Of all things 
I do not like this fighting-. 

Less. Now, gentlemen, 
Of this so great a courtesy I am 
At this instant merely destitute. 

Ray. The time ? 

Less. By eight a'clock to-morrow. 

Ray. How unhappily 
Things may fall out ! I am just at that hour 
Upon some late conceived discontents 
To atone* me to my father, otherwise 
Of all the rest you had commanded me 
Your second and your servant. 

Lion. Pray, the place ? 

Less. Calais sands f. 

Lion. It once was fatal to a friend of mine, 
And a near kinsman, for which I vow'd then, 
And deeply too, never to see that ground : 
But if it had been elsewhere, one of them 
Had before riinej been worms-meat. 

Gkov. What 's the weapon ? 

Less. Single sword. 

Grov. Of all that you could name, 
A thing I never practis'd : had it been 
Rapier, or that and poinard, where men use 

* aione.^ i.e. reconcile. 

f Calais sands.] As duelling was punishable by the English 
law, it was customary for gallants, who had ail'airs of honour to 
settle, to betake themselves to Calais sands. 

J nine.] The old copy, '' mine.'' 

278 A CUBE Foa a cuckold. 

Rather sleight than force, I had been then your 

Being young, I strain'd the sinews of my arm, 
Since then to me 'twas never serviceable. 

EusT. In troth, sir, had it been a money-matter, 
I could have stood your friend ; but as for fighting, 
I was ever out at that. 

Less. Well, farewell, gentlemen. 
\_Exeunt Raymond, Eustace, Lionel, and Grover. 
But where 's the friend in all this ? Tush, she "s 

And knows there's no such thing beneath the moon ; 
I now applaud her judgment. 

Enter Bonvile. 

Bon. Why, how now, friend ? This discontent, 
which now 
Is so unseason'd, makes me question what 
I ne'er durst doubt before, your love to me : 
Doth it proceed from envy of my bliss, 
Which this day crowns me with 1 or have you 

A secret rival in my happiness, 
And grieve to see me owner of those joys, 
Which you could wish your own ? 

Less. Banish such thoughts, 
Or you shall wrong the truest faithful friendship 
Man e'er could boast of. O, mine honour, sir ! 
'Tis that which makes me wear this brow of sor- 
row : 


Were that free from the power of calumny — 
But pardon me, that being now a-dying 
Which is so near to man, if part we cannot 
With pleasant looks. 

Bon. Do but speak the burden, 
And I protest to take it off from you, 
And lay it on myself. 

Less. 'Twere a request, 
Impudence without blushing could not ask, 
It bears with it such injury. 

Bon. Yet must I know "t. 

Less. Receive it, then — but I entreat you, sir, 
Not to imagine that I apprehend 
A thought to further my intent by you ; 
From you 'tis least suspected — 'twas my fortune 
To entertain a quarrel Avith a gentleman, 
The field betwixt us challeng'd, place and time, 
And these to be perform'd not without seconds : 
I have relied on many seeming friends, 
But cannot bless my memory with one 
Dares venture in my quarrel. 

BoN. Is this all ? 

Less. It is enough to make all temperature 
Convert to fury. Sir, my reputation. 
The life and soul of honour, is at stake, 
in danger to be lost ; the word of coward 
Still printed in the name of Lessingham. 

Bon. Not while there is a Bonvile. May I live 
And die despis'd, not having one sad friend 


To wait upon my hearse, if I survive 
The ruin of that honour. Sir, the time ? 

Less. Above all spare me [that], for that once 
You 11 cancel this your promise, and unsay 
Your friendly proffer ; neither can I blame you : 
Had you confirm'd it with a thousand oaths, 
The heavens would look with mercv, not with jus- 
On your offence, should you infringe 'em all. 
Soon after sun-rise, upon Calais sands. 
To-morrow we should meet ; now to defer 
Time one half hour, I should but forfeit all. 
But, sir, of all men living, this, alas, 
Concerns you least ! for shall I be the man 
To rob you of this night's felicity. 
And make your bride a widow, her soft bed 
No witness of those joys this night expects? 

Bon. I still prefer my friend before my pleasure, 
Which is not lost for ever, but adjourn'd 
For more mature employment. 

Less. Will you go then ? 

BoN. I am resolvd I \v\\\. 

Less. And instantly ? 

Bon. With all the speed celerity can make. 

Less. You do not weigh those inconveniences 
This action meets with : your departure hence 
Will breed a strange distraction in your friends, 
Distrust of love in your fair virtuous bride, 
AV'hose eyes perhaps may never more be blest 


With your dear sight, since you may meet a grave, 
And that not amongst your noble ancestors. 
But amongst strangers, almost enemies. 

Box. This were enough to shake a weak resolve. 
It moves not me. Take horse as secretly 
As you well may : my groom shall make mine ready 
With all speed possible, unknown to any. 

Less. But, sir, the bride. 

Enter Annabel. 

Anna. Did you not see the key, that 's to unlock 
My carcanet and bracelets ; now in troth 
I am afraid 'tis lost. 

BoN. No, sweet, I ha 't ; 
I found it lie at random in your cliamber. 
And knowing you would miss it, laid it by : 
'Tis safe, I warrant you. 

Anna. Then my fear 's past : 
But till you give it back, my neck and arms 
Are still your prisoners. 

Bon. But you shall find 
They have a gentle jailor. 

Anna. So I hope : 
Within y' are much inquir'd of. 

Bon. Sweet, I follow. [Exit Amiabcl.'] Dover? 

Less. Yes, that 's the place. 

Bon. If you be there before me, hire a bark : 
I shall not fail to meet you. \Exit. 

Less. Was ever known 
A man so miserablv blest as I ? 


I have no sooner found the greatest good 

Man in this pilgrimage of life can meet, 

But I must make the womb where 't Avas conceiv'd 

The tomb to bury it, and the first hour it lives 

The last it must breathe. Yet there 's a fate 

That sways and governs above woman's hate. 


ACT 11.— SCENE I. 

Enter Rochfield, a young gentleman. 

RocH. A younger brother? 'tis a poor calhiig. 
Though not unlawful, very hard to live on : 
The elder fool inherits all the lands, 
And we that follow, legacies of wit. 
And get 'em when we can too. Why should law, 
If we be lawful and legitimate, 
Leave us without an equal divident ? 
Or why compels it not our fathers else 
To cease from getting, when they want to give ? 
No sure, our mothers will ne'er agree to that ; 
They love to groan, although the gallows echo 
And groan together for us ; from the first 
"We travel forth, t' other's our journey's end. 
I must forward. To beg is out of my way, 
And borrowing is out of date. The old road, 
The old high-Avay 't must be, and I am in 't : 
The place will serve for a young beginner. 


For this is the first day I set ope shop. 
Success, then, sweet Laverna ! I have heard 
That thieves adore thee for a deity : 
I would not purchase by thee but to eat, 
And 'tis too churlish to deny me meat. 
Soft, here may be a booty. 

Enter Annabel a7id a Servant. 

Anna. Hors'd, say'st thou? 

Serv. Yes, mistress, with Lessingham. 

Anna. Alack, I know not what to doubt or fear ! 
I know not well whether 't be well or ill : 
But sure it is no custom for the groom 
To leave his bride upon the nuptial day. 
I am so young and ignorant a scholar — 
Yes, and it proves so ; I talk away perhaps 
That might be yet recover'd. Prithee, run : 
The fore-path may advantage thee to meet 'em, 
Or the ferry, which is not two miles before, 
May trouble 'em, until thou com'st in ken. 
And if thou dost, prithee, enforce thy voice 
To overtake thine eyes, cry out, and crave 
For me but one word 'fore his departure ; 
I will not stay him, say, beyond his pleasure. 
Nor rudely ask the cause, if he be willing 
To keep it from me. Charge him by all the love — 
But I stay thee too long : run, run. 

Serv. If I had wings, I would spread 'em now, 

mistress. [^Exit. 

Anna. I '11 make the best speed after that I can, 


Yet I am not well acquainted with the path : 
My fears, I fear me, will misguide me too. \_Exit. 
RocH. There's goodmovables, I perceive, whate'er 
the ready coin be : whoever owns her, she's mine 
now ; tlie next ground has a most pregnant hollow 
for the purpose. \_Exit. 


Enter Servant, running over; enter Annabel, 
after her Rochfield. 

Anna. I m at a doubt already where I am. 

RocH. I '11 help you, mistress ; well overtaken. 

Anna. Defend me, goodness ! What are you ? 

RocH. A man. 

Anna. An honest man, I hope. 

RocH. In some degrees hot, not altogether cold ; 
So far as rank poison yet dangerous. 
As I may be drest : I am an honest thief. 

Anna. Honest and thief hold small affinity, 
1 never heard they were akin before : 
Pray heaven I find it now. 

RocH. I tell you my name. 

Anna. Then, honest thief, since you have taught 
me so. 
For I '11 inquire no other, use me honestly. 

RocH. Thus then I '11 use you. First then, to 
prove me honest, 
I will not violate vour chastity, 


(That's no part yet of my profession,) 
Be you wife or virgin. 

Anna. I am both, sir. 

RocH. This then it seems should be your wedding 
And these the hours of interim to keep you 
In that double state : come then I '11 be brief, 
For I'll not hinder your desired h^men. 
You have about you some superfluous toys. 
Which my lank hungry pockets would contrive* 
With much more profit and more privacy ; 
You have an idle chain which keeps your neck 
A prisoner ; a manacle, I take it, 
About your wrist too. If these prove emblems 
Of the combined hemp to halter mine. 
The fates take their pleasure ! these are set down 
To be your ransom, and there the thief is prov'd. 

Anna. I will confess both, and the last forget. 
You shall be only honest in this deed. 
Pray you take it, I entreat you to it. 
And then you steal 'era not. 

RocH. You may deliver 'em. 

Anna. Indeed I cannot. If you observe, sir. 
They are both lock'd about me, and the key 
I have not : happily you are furnish'd 
With some instrument that may unloose 'em. 

RocH. No, in troth, lady, I am but a freshman; 
I never read further than this book you see, 

* conlrive.'\ Qy. " contain." 


And tliis verv day is my beginning too : 
These picking-laws I am to study yet. 

Anna. 0,do not show me that, sir, 'tis too fright- 
Good, hurt me not, for I do yield 'em freely ; 
Use but your liands, perhaps their strength will serve 
To tear 'em from me without much detriment: 
Somewhat I will endure. 

RocH. \yell, sweet lady, 
Y' are the best patient for a young physician, 
That I think e'er was practis'd on. I '11 use 5'^ou 
As gently as I can, as I 'm an honest thief. 
No ? will t not do ? do I hurt you, lady ? 

Anna. Not much, sir. 

RocH. I 'd be loth at all. I cannot do 't. 

Anna. Nay, then, you shall not, sir. You a thief, 
[She draws his sword. 
And guard yourself no better ? no further read ? 
Yet out in your own book ? a bad clerk, are you 

RocH. Ay, by Saint Nicholas*, lady, sweet lady. 

Anna. Sir, I have now a masculine vigour, 
And will redeem myself with purchase too. 
What money have you ? 

RocH. Not a cross, by this foolish hand of mine. 

Anna. No money ? 'twere pity, then, to take this 
from thee ; 
I know thou 'It use me ne'er the worse for this ; 

* a bad clerk are you not ? Atj, hij Saint Nicholas.] A cant 
name for thieves was St. Nicholas clerks. 


Take it again, I know not how to use it : 

A frown had taken 't from me, which thou had'st 

And now hear, and beheve me on my knees 
I make the protestation, forbear 
To take what violence and danger must 
Dissolve, if I forego 'em now. I do assure 
You would not strike my head off for my chain, 
Nor my hand for this: how to deliver 'em 
Otherwise, I know not. Accompany 
Me back unto my house, 'tis not far off : 
By all the vows which this day I have tied 
Unto my wedded husband, the honour 
Yet equal with my cradle purity, 
(If you will tax me,) to the hoped joys, 
The blessings of the bed, posterity. 
Or what aught else by woman may be pledg'd, 
I will deliver you in ready coin 
The full and dearest esteem of what you crave. 

RocH. Ha ! ready money is the prize I look for : 
It walks without suspicion anywhere. 
When chains and jewels may be stay'd and call'd 
Before the constable ; but 

Anna. But ? can you doubt ? 
You saw I gave you my advantage up : 
Did you e'er think a woman to be true ? 

RocH. Thought 's free ; I have heard of some 
few, lady, 
Very few indeed. 

Anna. Will 5'ou add one more to your belief? 


RocH. They were fewer tlian the articles of my 
Therefore I have room for you, and will believe 

Stay, you '11 ransom your jewels with ready coin ; 
So may you do, and then discover me. 

Anna. Shall I reiterate the vows I made 
To this injunction, or new ones coin ? 

RocH. Neither ; I '11 trust you : if you do destroy 
A thief that never yet did robbery. 
Then farewell I, and mercy fall upon me. 
T knew one once fifteen years courtier old*, 
And he was buried ere he took a bribe. 
It may be my case in the worser way. 
Come, you know your path back. 

Anna. Yes, I shall guide you. 

RocH. Your arm: I '11 lead with greater dread 
than will, 
Nor do you fear, though in thief's handling still. 



Enter Two Boys, one with a Child in hi< arms. 

1 Boy. I say 'twas fair play. 

2 Boy. To snatch up stakes ! I say you should 
not say so if the child were out of mine arms. 

1 Boy. Ay, then thou 'dst lay about like a man ; 

* o/rf.] The old copy, " owFd." 


but the child will not be out of thine anns this five 
years, and then thou hast a prenticeship to serve to 
a boy afterwards. 

2 Boy. So, sir ! you know you have the advantage 
of me. 

1 Boy. I 'm sure you have the odds of me, you 
are two to one. 

Enter Compass. 

But soft, Jack, who comes here ? if a point will 
make us friends, we '11 not fall out. 

2 Boy, O, the pity I 'tis Gaffer Compass : they 
said he was dead three years ago. 

1 Boy. Did not he dance the Hobby-horse in 
Hackney Morrice once ? 

2 Boy. Yes, yes, at Green-goose fair, as honest 
and as poor a man. 

Com p. Black wall, sweet Blackwall, do I see thy 
white cheeks again ? I have brought some brine 
from sea for thee ; tears that might be tied in a 
true-love knot, for they 're fresh salt indeed. O, 
beautiful Blackwall! If Urse, my wife, be living to 
this day, though she die to-morrow, sweet fates ! 

2 Boy. Alas ! let 's put him out of his dumps, 
for pity's sake ! — Welcome home, Gaffer Compass, 
welcome home, Gaffer. 

CoMP. ]My jiretty youths, I thank you. Honest 
Jack, wliat a little man art thou grown, since I saw 
thee! Thou hast got a child, since, methinks. 

VOL. Ill, U 


2 Boy. I am fain to keep it, you see, whosoever 
got it, gaifer : it may be another man's case as well 
as mine. 

Com p. Sayest true. Jack : and whose pretty knave 
is it? 

2 Boy. One that I mean to make a younger bro- 
ther, if he live to 't, gaffer. But I can tell you 
news : you have a brave boy of your own wife's ; 
O, 'tis a shot to this pig ! 

CoMP. Have I, Jack ? I '11 owe thee a dozen of 
points for this news. 

2 Boy. O, 'tis a chopping boy ! it cannot choose, 
you know, gaffer, it was so long a breeding. 

CoMP. How long. Jack ? 

2 Boy. You know 'tis four year ago since you 
went to sea, and your child is but a quarter old 

CoMP. What plaguy boys are bred, now-a-days ! 

1 Boy. Pray, gaffer, how long may a child be 
breeding, before 'tis born ? 

CoMP. That is as things are and prove, child ; 
the soil has a great hand in 't, too, the horizon, and 
the clime : these things you '11 understand when you 
go to sea. In some parts of London hard by, vou 
shall have a bride married to-day, and brought to 
bed within a month after, sometimes within three 
weeks, a fortnight. 

1 Boy. O, horrible ! 

CoMP. True, as I tell you, lads. In another 
place you shall liave a couple of drones, do wliat 


they can, sliift lodgings, beds, bed-fellows, yet not 
a child in ten years. 

2 Boy. O, pitiful! 

CoMP. Now it varies again by that time you come 
at Wapping, Radcliff, Limehouse, and here with us 
at Blackwall ; our cliildren come uncertainly, as the 
wind serves. Sometimes here we are supposed to 
be away three or four year together : 'tis nothing 
so, we are at home and gone again, when nobody 
knows on 't. If you '11 believe me, I have been at 
Surat, as this day; I have taken the long-boat, (a 
fair gale with me,) been here a-bed with my wife 
by twelve a clock at night, up and gone again i' th' 
morning, and no inan the wiser, if you '11 believe 

2 Bor. Yes, yes, gatfer, I have thought so many 
times that you or somebody else have been at home ; 
I lie at next wall, and I have heard a noise in your 
chamber all night long. 

CoMP. Right, wliy that was I, yet thou never 
sawest me. 

2 Boy. No indeed, gaffer. 

CoMP. No, I warrant thee ; I was a thousand 
leagues off, ere thou wert up. But, Jack, I have 
been loth to ask all this while, for discomforting 
myself, how does my wife ? is she living ? 

2 Boy. O, never better, gaffer, never so lusty ! 
and truly she wears better clothes than she was 
wont in your days, especially on holidays ; fair 
gowns, brave petticoats, and fine smocks, they say 

u 2 


that liave seen 'em, and some of tlie neighbours re- 
port* that they were taken up at London, 

CoMP. Like enough : they must be paid for, Jack. 
: 2 Boy, And good reason, gatfer, 

CoMP. Well, Jack, thou shalt have the honour 
on 't : go, tell my wife the joyful tidings of my 

2 Boy. That I will, for she heard you were dead 
long ago. [Exit. 

1 Boy, Nay, sir, I '11 be as forward as you, by 
your leave. [Exit. 

CoMP. Well, wife, if I be one of the livery, I 
thank thee. The horners are a great company ; 
there may be an alderman amongst us one day ; 'tis 
but changing our copy, and then we are no more to 
be called by our old brother-hood. 

Enter Compass's Wife. 

Wife. O my sweet Compass, art thou come again! 

CoMP. O, Urse, give me leave to shed ! The 
fountains! of love will have their course : though I 
cannot sing at first sight, yet I can cry before I 
see. I am new come into the world, and children 
cry before they laugh a fair while. 

Wife. And so thou art, sweet Compass, new born 
For rumour laid thee out for dead long since. 

* report.] The old copy, " reports." 

f fouiilain.i.'] The old copy, " /ounfain." 


I never thought to see this face again : 
I heard thou wert div'd to th' bottom of the sea, 
And taken up a lodging in the sands, 
Never to come to Blackwall again. 

CoMP. I was going indeed, wife, but I turned 
back : I heard an ill report of my neighbours, 
sharks and sword-fishes, and the like, whose com- 
panies I did not like. Come kiss my tears, now, 
sweet Urse : sorrow begins to ebb. 

Wife. A thousand times welcome home, sweet 

CoMP. An ocean of thanks, and that will hold 
'em. And, Urse, how goes all at home ? or cannot 
all go yet ? lank still ! will 't never be full sea at 
our wharf? 

Wife. Alas, husband ! 

Com p. A lass, or a lad, Aveiich, I should be glad 
of both : I did look for a pair of compasses before 
this day. 

Wife. And you from home ! 

CoMP. I from home ! why, though I be from 
home, and other of our neighbours from home, it is 
not fit all should be from home ; so the town might be 
left desolate, and our neighbours of Bow might come 
further from the Itacus*, and inhabit here. 

Wife. I 'm glad y' are merry, sweet husband. 

CoMP. Merry ! nay, I '11 be merrier yet : why 
should I be sorry ? I hope my boy 's well, is he not ? 
I looked for another by this time. 

* Itacus.] What this misprint slioultl be, I know not. 


Wife. What boy, husband ? 

CoMP. What boy ! why the boy I got when I 
came home in the cock-boat one night about a year 
ago : you have not forgotten 't, I hope. I think I 
left behind for a boy, and a boy I must be an- 
swered : I 'm sure I was not drunk, it could be no 

Wife. Nay, then, I do perceive my fault is 
known ; 
Dear man, your pardon. 

CoMP. Pardon ! why, thou hast not made away 
my boy, hast thou ? I '11 hang thee, if there were 
ne'er a whore in London more, if thou hast hurt 
but his little toe. 

Wife. Your long absence, with rumour of j'our 
After long battery I was surpris'd. 

CoMP. Surprised ! I cannot blame thee : Black- 
wall, if it were double black-walled, can't hold out 
always, no more than Limehouse, or Shadvvell, or 
the strongest suburbs about London ; and when it 
comes to that, woe be to the city, too. 

Wife. Pursu'd by gifts and promises, I yielded ; 
Consider, husband, I am a woman, 
Neither the first nor last of such offenders. 
'Tis true I have a child. 

CoMP. Ha' you ? and what shall I have then, I 
pray ? Will not you labour for me, as I shall do 
for you ? Because I was out o' th' way when 'twas 
gotten, shall I lose my share ? There 's better law 
amongst the players yet, for a fellow shall have his 


share, though he do not play that day. If you look 
for any part of my four years' wages, I will have 
half the boy. 

Wife. If you can forgive me, I shall be joy'd 
at it. 

CoMP. Forgive thee I for what ? for doing me a 
pleasure ? And what is he that would seem to fa- 
ther my child ? 

Wife. A man, sir, whom in better courtesies 
We have been beholding too, the merchant Master 

CoMP. I 'U acknowledge no other courtesies : for 
this I am beholding to him, and I would requite it, if 
his wife were young enough. Though he be one of 
our merchants at sea, he shall give me leave to be 
owner at home. And where 's my boy? shall I 
see him ? 

WiFK. He 's nurs'd at Bednal-green : 'tis now too 
To-morrow I '11 bring you to it, if you please. 

CoMP. I would thou could'st bring me another by 
to-morrow. Come, we '11 eat, and to bed, and if 
a fair gale come, we '11 hoist sheets, and set for- 

Let fainting fools lie sick upon their scorns, 
I '11 teach a cuckold how to liide his horns. 




Enter Woodroff, Franckford, Raymond, Eus- 
tace, Grover, Lionel, Clare, Lucy. 

Wood. This wants a precedent, that a bride- 
Should so discreet and decently observe 
His forms, postures, all customary rites 
Belonging to the table, and then hide himself 
From his expected wages in the bed. 

Franck. Let this be forgotten too, that it remains 
A first example. 

Ray. Keep it amongst us. 
Lest it beget too much unfruitful sorrow. 
Most likely 'tis, that love to Lessingham 
Hath fastened on hun, we all denied. 

EusT. 'Tis more certain than likely : I know 'tis 

Grov. Conceal then: the event may be well 

AVooD. The bride, my daughter, slie is* hidden 
too ; 
This last hour she hath not been seen with us. 
Ray. Perhaps they are together. 

* she I*.] The old copy, " she "s." 


EusT. And then we make too strict an inquisi- 
Under correction of fair modesty, 
Should they be stol'n away to bed together, 
What would you say to that ? 

Wood, I would say, speed 'era well ; 
And if no worse news comes, I '11 never weep 
for 't. 

Enter Nurse. 

How now ! hast thou any tidings ? 

Nurse. Yes forsooth, I have tidings. 

Wood. Of any one that 's lost ? 

Nurse. Of one that 's found again forsooth. 

Wood. O, he was lost, it seems then. 

Franck. This tidings comes tome, I guess, sir. 

Nurse. Yes truly does it, sir. 

Ray. Ay, have* old lads work for young nurses ? 

EusT. Yes, when they groan towards their se- 
cond infancy. 

Clare. I fear myself most guilty for the absence 
Of the bridegroom. What our wills will do 
With over-rash and headlong peevishness 
To bring our calm discretions to repentance ! 
Lessingham 's mistaken, quite out of the way 
Of my purpose too. 

Franck. Return'd ! 
Nurse. And all discoverd. 

* have.] The old copy, " has." 


Franc K. A fool rid him further off! let him nut 
Come near the child. 

Nurse. Nor see 't, if it he your charge. 

Franck. It is, and strictly. 

Nurse. To-morrow morning, as I hear he pur- 
To come to Bednal-green, liis wife with him. 

Franck. He shall be met there ; yet, if he fore- 
My coming, keep the child safe. 

Nurse. If he be 
The earlier up, he shall arrive at the proverb *. 

Enter Rochfield and Annabel. 

Wood. So, so, 
There 's some good luck yet, the bride 's in sight 

Anna. Father, and gentlemen all, beseech you 
Entreat this gentleman with all courtesy, 
He is a loving kinsman of my Bonvile's, 
That kindly came to gratulate our wedding ; 
But as the day falls out, you see alone 
I personate both groom and bride, only 
Your help to make this welcome better. 

* the proverb] " Early up and never the nearer." 

Ray's Proverbs, p. 101, ed. 1768. 
" You say true, Master Subtle, 1 have beene ear/y up, but as 
God helpe me, I was never the neere.'" 

Field's Amends for Ladies, sig. F 3, ed. 1639. 


Wood. Most dearly. 

Ray. To all, assure you, sir. 

Wood. But where 's the bridegroom, girl ? 
We are all at a nonplus, here, at a stand, 
Quite out, the music ceas'd, and dancing surbated, 
Not a light heel amongst us ; my cousin Clare, too, 
As cloudy here as on a washing day. 

Clare. It is because you will not dance witli me; 
I should then shake it off. 

Anna. 'Tis T have cause 
To be the sad one now, if any be : 
But I have questiond with my meditations, 
And they have render'd well and comfortably 
To the worst fear I found. Suppose this day 
He had long since appointed to his foe 
To meet, and fetch a reputation from him. 
Which is the dearest jewel unto man : 
Say he do fight, I know his goodness such. 
That all those powers that love it are his guard. 
And ill cannot betide him. 

Wood. Prithee, peace, 
Thou 'It make us all cowards to hear a woman 
Instruct so valiantly. Come, the music, 
I '11 dance myself rather than thus put down. 
What ! I am rife a little yet. 

Anna. Only this gentleman 
Pray you be free in welcome to ; I tell you 
I was in fear when first I saw him. 

RocH. Ha ! she '11 tell. 

Anna, I had quite lost my way in 


My first amazement, but he so fairly came 
To my recovery, in his kind conduct 
Gave me such loving comforts to my fears, 
'Twas he instructed me in what I spake. 
And many better than I have told you yet ; 
You shall hear more anon. 

RocH. So, she will out with 't. 

Anna. I must, I see, supply both places still. 
Come, when I have seen you back to your pleasure, 
I will return to you, sir : we must discourse 
More of my Bonvile yet. 

Omnes. a noble bride, faith. 

Clare. You have your wishes, and you may be 
merry : 
Mine have over-gone me. 

[Exeunt all but Rochjietd. 

RocH. It is the trembling'st trade to be a thief! 
H 'ad need have all the world bound to the peace, 
Besides the bushes and the vanes* of houses : 
Everything that moves, he goes in fear of 's life on; 
A fur-gowTi'd cat, and meet her in the night, 
She stares with a constable's eye upon him, 
And every dog a watchman ; a black cow. 
And a calf Avith a white face after her. 
Shews like a surly justice and his clerk ; 
And if the baby go but to the bag, 
'Tis ink and paper for a mittimus. 
Sure, I shall never thrive on 't ; and it may be 

* vanesi\ Tlie old copy, " pkanes." 


I shall need take no care, I may be now 
At my journey's end, or but the goal's distance. 
And so to th' t'other place, I trust a woman 
With a secret worth a hanging ; is that well ? 
I could find in my heart to run away yet : 
And that \^ere base, too, to run from a woman : 
I can lay claim to nothing but her vows. 
And they shall strengthen me. 

Enter Annabel. 

Anna. See, sir, my promise : 
There 's twenty pieces, the full value, I vow, 
Of what they cost. 

RocH. Lady, do not trap me 
Like a sumpter-horse, and then spur-gall me 
Till I break my wind. If the constable 
Be at the door, let his fair staff appear : 
Perhaps I may corrupt him with this gold. 

Anna. Nay, then, if you mistrust me, father, 
Master Raymond, Eustace ! 

Enter All, as before, and a Sailor. 

Wood. How now, what 's the matter, girl ? 
Anna. For shame, will you bid your kinsman 
welcome ? 
No one but I will lay a hand on him : 
Leave him alone, and all a revelling I 

Wood. O, is that it ? Welcome, \\(.Icome 
lieartily ! 


I thought the bridegroom had been return'd : but 
I have news, Annabel ; this fellow brought it. 
Welcome, sir ! why, you tremble methinks, sir, 
Anna. Some agony of anger 'tis, believe it, 
His entertainment is so cold and feeble. 
Ray. Pray be cheerVl, sir. 

RocH. I 'm wondrous well, sir ; 'twas the gentle- 
man's mistake. 
Wood. 'Twas my hand shook belike, then ; you 
must pardon 
Age, I was stifFer once. But as I was saying, 
I should by promise see the sea to-morrow 
('Tis meant forphysick) as low as Lee or Margate,* 
I have a vessel riding forth, gentlemen, 
'Tis call'd the God- speed, too, 
Though I say 't, a brave one, well and richly 

fraughted ; 
And I can tell you she carries a Letter of Mart 
In her mouth, too, and twenty roaring boys 
On both sides on her, starboard and larboard. 
What say you, now, to make you all adventurers ? 
You shall have fair dealing, that I '11 promise you. 

Ray. a very good motion, sir, I begin, 
There's my ten pieces. 

EusT. I second 'em with these. 
Grov. My ten in the third place. 
RocH. And, sir, if you refuse not a profFer'd 
Take my ten pieces with you, too. 

* r.fargale.^ The old copy, " Margels." 


Wood. Yours above all the rest, sir. 

Anna. Then make 'em above, venture ten more. 

RocH. Alas, lady, 'tis a j'ounger brother's portion, 
And all in one bottom ! 

Anna. At my encourag'ement, sir, 
Your credit if you want, sir, shall not sit down 
Under that sum return'd. 

RoCH. With all my heart, lady. There, sir. 
So, she has fish'd for her gold back, and caught it ; 
I am no thief now. 

Wood. I shall make here a pretty assurance. 

RocH. Sir, I shall have a suit to you. 

Wood. You are likely to obtain it, then, sir. 

RocH. That I may keep you company to sea. 
And attend you back ; I am a little travell'd. 

Wood. And heartily thank you, too, sir. 

Anna. Why, that 's well said. 
Pray you be merry : though your kinsman be ab- 
I am here the worst part of him, yet that shall 

To give you welcome ; to-morrow may show you 
What this night will not, and be full assiu-'d 
Unless your twenty pieces be ill-lent. 
Nothing shall give you cause of discontent. 
There's ten more, sir. 

RocH. Why should I fear ? Foutre on 't, 
I'll be merry now, spite of the hangman. [E.vciint. 



Enter Lessingham and Bonvile. 

Bon. We are first i' th' field : I think j-oiir enemy 
Is stay'd at Dover, or some other port, 
We hear not of his landing. 

Less. I am confident 
He is come over. 

Bon. You look, methinks, fresh colour'd. 

Less. Like a red morning, friend, that still fore- 
A stormy day to follow : but, methinks, 
Now I observe your face, that you look pale, 
There's death in 't already. 

Bon. T could chide your error. 
Do you take me for a coward ? A coward 
Is not his own friend, much less can he be 
Another man's. Know, sir, I am come hither 
To instruct you, by my generous example, 
To kill yonr enemy, whose name as yet 
I never question'd. 

Less. Nor dare I name him yet 
For disheartening you. 

BoN. I do begin to doubt 
The goodness of your quarrel. 

Less. Now you have 't: 
For I protest that I must fight with one 


From whom, in the whole course of our acquaint- 
I never did receive the least injury. 

BoN. It may be the forgetful mne begot 
Some sudden blow, and thereupon 't is * challenge. 
Howe'er you are engag'd, and for my part 
I will not take your course, my unlucky friend. 
To say your conscience grows pale and heartless. 
Maintaining a bad cause. Fight, as lawyers plead, 
Who gain the best of reputation 
When they can fetch a bad cause smoothly off ; 
You are in and must through. 

Less. O my friend, 
The noblest ever man had ! when my fate 
Threw me upon this business, I made trial 
Of divers had profess'd to me much love, 
And found their friendship, Uke the effects that kept 
Our company together, \^ine and riot : 
Giddy and sinking I had found 'em oft. 
Brave seconds at pluralities of healths ; 
But when it came to th' proof, my gentlemen 
Appear'd to me as promising and failing 
As cozening lotteries. But then I found 
This jewel worth a thousand counterfeits : 
I did but name my engagement, and you flew 
Unto my succour with that cheerfulness, 
As a great general hastes to a battle. 
When that the chief of the adverse part 

* 'tis.] Qy. " this." 
VOL. 111. ^ 


Is a man glorious but of ample fame. 

You left your bridal bed to find your death-bed. 

And herein you most nobly express'd 

That the affection 'tween two loyal friends 

Is far beyond the love of man to woman, 

And is more near allied to eternity. 

What better friend's part could be shew'd i' the 

world ! 
It transcends all : my father gave me life, 
But you stand by my honour when 't is falling, 
And nobly underprop * it with your sword. 
But now you have done me all this service. 
How, how, shall I requite this ? how return 
My grateful recompense for all this love ? 
For it am I come hither with full purpose 
To kill you. 

BoN. Ha! 

Less. Yes, I have no opposite i' th' world but 
Yourself: there, read the warrant for your death. 

BoN. 'Tis a woman's hand. 

Less. And 'tis a bad hand too: 
The most of 'em speak fair, write foul, mean worse. 

Bon. Kill me ! away, you jest. 

Less. Such jest as your sharp-witted gallants use 
To utter, and lose their friends. Read there how 
I am fetter'd in a woman's proud command : 
I do love madly, and must do madly. 
Deadliest hellebore or vomit of a toad 
Is qualified poison to the malice of a woman. 

* underprop ] The old copy " underpropf.'" 


Bon. And kill that friend ? strange ! 

Less. You may see, sir, 
Although the tenure by which land was held 
In villanage be quite extinct in England, 
Yet you have women there at this day living 
Make a number of slaves. 

Bon. And kill that friend I 
She mocks you upon my life, she does equivocate: 
Her meaning is, you cherish in your breast 
Either self-love, or pride, as your best friend, 
And she wishes you 'd kill that. 

Less. Sure, her command 
Is more bloody ; for she loathes me, and has put, 
As she imagines, this impossible task. 
For ever to be quit and free from me : 
But such is the violence of my affection, 
That I must undergo it. Draw your sword. 
And guard yourself ! though I fight in fury 
I shall kill you in cold blood, for I protest 
'Tis done in heart-sorrow. 

Bon. I '11 not fight with you, 
For I have much advantage : the truth is, 
I wear a privy coat. 

Less. Prithee put it off then, 
If thou * beest manly. 

Bon. The defence I mean, is the justice of my 
cause ; 
That would guard me, and fly to thy destruction. 
What confidence thou wear'st in a bad cause ! 
* thou.] The old copy " /Ae«." 

x2 . 


I am likely to kill thee it' I fight, 

And then you fail to effect your mistress* bidding, 

Or to enjoy the fruit of 't. I have ever 

Wished thy happiness, and vow I now 

So much affect it, in compassion 

Of my friend's sorrow : make thy way to it.* 

Lbss. That were a cruel murder. 

Bon. Believe 't, 't is ne'er intended otherwise, 
When 't is a woman's bidding. 

Less. O, the necessity of my fate ! 

BoN. You shed tears. 

Less. And yet must on in my cruel purpose : 
A judge, methinks, looks loveliest when he weeps 
Pronouncing of death's sentence. How I stagger 
In my resolve I Guard thee, for I came hither 
To do and not to suffer: wUt not yet 
Be persuaded to defend thee ? turn the point, 
Advance it from the ground above thy head. 
And let it underprop thee otherwise 
In a bold resistance. 

Bon. Stay ; thy injunction was 
Thou should'st kill thy friend. 

Less. It was. 

BoN. Observe me. 
He wrongs me most, ought to offend me least, 
And they that study man say of a friend, 
There 's nothing in the world that 's harder found, 
Nor sooner lost. Thou cam'st to kill thy friend, 

* A line seems to have dropt out here. 


And thou may'st brag thou hast done 't ; for here 

for ever 
All friendship dies between us, and my heart, 
For bringing- forth any effects of love, 
Shall be as barren to thee as this sand 
We tread on, cruel and inconstant as 
The sea that beats upon this beach. We now 
Are severed • thus hast thou slain thy friend, 
And satisfied what the Avitch, thy mistress, bade thee. 
Go, and report that thou hast slain thy friend. 

Less. I am serv'd right. 

Bon. And now that I do cease to be thy friend, 
I will fight with thee as thine enemy : 
I came not over idly to do nothing. 

Less. O, friend ! 

BoN. Friend I 
The naming of that word shall be the quarrel 
What do I know but that thou lov'st my wife, 
And feign'st this plot to divide me from her bed, 
And that this letter here is counterfeit ? 
Will you advance, sir ? 

Less. Not a blow : 
'Twould appear ill in either of us to fight, 
In you unmanly ; for believe it, sir. 
You have disarm'd me already, done away 
All power of resistance in me. It would show 
Beastly to do wrong to the dead: to me you say 
You are dead for ever, lost on Calais sands 
By the cruelty of a woman. Yet remember 
You had a noble friend, whose love to you 


Shall continue after death. Shall I go over 
In the same bark with you ? 

Bon. Not for yon town 
Of Calais : you know 'tis dangerous li\ang 
At sea with a dead body. 

Less. O, you mock me ! 
May you enjoy all your noble wishes ! 

Bon. And may you find a better friend than T, 
And better keep him ! [^Exeunt. 


Enter Nurse, Compass, and his Wife. 

Nurse. Indeed you must pardon me, goodman 
Compass ; I have no authority to deliver, no, not to 
let you see the child : to tell you true, I have com- 
mand unto the contrary. 

CoMP. Command ? from whom ? 

Nurse. By the father of it. 

Com p. The father ! who am I ? 

Nurse. Not the father sure : the civil law has 
found it otherwise. 

CoMP. The civil law ! why then the uncivil law 
shall make it mine again. I '11 be as dreadful as a 
Shrove-Tuesday * to thee: I will tear thy cottage, 
but I will see my child. 

* Shrove-Tuesday.] See note •, p. 225. 


Nurse. Speak but half so much again, I '11 call the 
constable, and lay burglary to thy charge. 

Wife. My good husband, be patient. And prithee, 
nurse, let him see the child. 

Nurse. Indeed I dare not. 
The father first delivered me the child : 
He pays me well and weekly for my pains, 
And to his use I keep it. 

CoMP. Why, thou white bastard-breeder, is not 
this the mother ? 

Nurse. Yes, I grant you that. 

CoMP. Dost thou 't and I grant it too : and is not 
the child mine own, then, by the wife's copyhold ? 

Nurse. The law must try that. 

CoMP. Law ! dost think I '11 be but a father in 
law ? All the law betwixt Blackwall and Tuthil- 
street, and there 's a pretty deal, shall not keep it 
from me, mine own flesh and blood : who does use 
to get my children but myself? 

Nurse. Nay, you must look to that : I ne'er 
knew you get any. 

CoMP. Never ? Put on a clean smock and try 
me if thou darest ; three to one I get a bastard on 
thee to-morrow morning between one and three. 

Nurse. I '11 see thee hanged first. 
CoMP. So thou shalt too. 

Enter Franckford and Lucy. 

Nurse. O, here 's the father: now pray talk 
with him. 



Franck. Good morrow, neighbour : morrow to 

you both. 
CoMP. Both ! morrow to you and your wife 

Franc K. I would speak calmly with you. 
Com p. I know what belongs to a calm and a 
storm too. A cold word with you : you have tied 
your mare in my ground. 
Franck. No, 'twas my nag. 

CoMP. I will cutoff your nag's tail, and make his 
rump make hair -buttons, if e'er I take him there 
- Fkanck. Well, sir, but to the main. 

CoMP. Main ! yes, and I '11 clip his mane too, 
and crop his ears too, do you mark ? and backgall 
him, and spurgall him, do you note ? and slit his 
nose, do you smell me now, sir ? unbreech his 
barrel, and discharge his bullets ; I '11 gird him 
till he stinks: you smell me now I 'm sure. 

Franck. You are too rough, neighbour. To 


CoMP. Maintain ! you shall not maintain no child 
of mine : my wife does not bestow her labour to that 

Franck. You are too speedy. I will not main- 

CoMv. No, marry, shall you not. 
Franck. The deed to be lawful: 
I have repented it, and to the law 
Given satisfaction ; my purse has paid for 't. 


Coup. Your purse ! 'twas my wife's purse : you 
brought in the coin indeed, but it was found base 
and counterfeit. 

Franck. I would treat colder with you, if you be 

CoMP. Pleased ! yes, I am pleased well enough, 
serve me so still. I am going again to sea one of 
these days: you know where I dwell. Yet you '11 
but lose your labour : get as many children as you 
can, you shall keep none of them. 

Franck. You are mad. 

CoMP. If I be horn-mad, what's that to you ? 

Franck. I leave off milder phrase, and then tell 
you plain, you are a 

CoMP. A what ? what am I ? 

Franck. A coxcomb. 

CoMP. A coxcomb ! I knew 'twould begin with 

Franck. The child is mine, I am the father 
of it. 
As it is past the deed, 'tis past the shame ; 
I do acknowledge and will enjoy it. 

CoMP. Yes, when you can get it again. Is it not 
my wife's labour ? I 'm sure she 's the mother : you 
may be as far off the father as I am, for my wife 's 
acquainted with more whoremasters besides your- 
self, and crafty merchants too. 

Wife. No, indeed, husband, to make my offence 
Both least and most, I knew no other man ; 


He 's the begetter, but the child is mine ; 
I bred and bore it, and I will not lose it. 

Lucy. The child 's my husband's, dame, and he 
must have it. 
I do allow my sufferance to the deed. 
In lieu I never yet was fruitful to him, 
And in my barrenness excuse my wrong. 

CoMP. Let him dung his own ground better at 
home then : if he plant his radish roots in my gar- 
den, I '11 eat 'em wdth bread and salt, though I 
get no mutton to 'em. What though your husband 
lent my wife your distaff, shall not the yam be 
mine ? I '11 have the head ; let him carry the spindle 
home again. 

Franck. Forbear more words then ; let the law 
try it. 
Meantime, nurse, keep the child, and to keep it 

Here take more pay beforehand : there 's money for 

CoMP. There 's money for me too : keep it forme, 
nurse. Give him both thy dugs at once : I pay for 
thy right dug. 

Nurse. I have two hands, you see : gentlemen, 
this does but show how the law ^vill hamper you; even 
thus you must be used. 

Franck. The law shall shew which is the worthier 
gender : 
A schoolboy can do 't. 


CoMp. I '11 whip that schoolboy that declines the 
child from my wife and her heirs : do not I know 
my wife's case, the genitive case, and that 's hvjus, 
as great a case as can be ? 

Franck. Well, fare you well: we shall meet in 
another place. 
Come, Lucy, [Exeunt Franckford and Lucy. 

Com p. Meet her in the same place again, if you 
dare, and do your worst. Must we go to law for 
our children now a days ? No marvel if the lawyers 
grow rich ; but ere the law shall have a limb, a leg, 
a joint, a nail, 

I will spend more than a whole child in getting ; 
Some win by play, and ot?iers by bye-betting. 



Enter Raymond, Eustace, Lionel, Grover, 
Annabel, and Clare. 

Lion. Whence was that letter sent ? 

Anna. From Dover, sir ? 

Lion. And does that satisfy you what was the 
Of his going over ? 

Anna, It does : yet had he 
Only sent this, it had been sufficient. 

Ray. Why, what's that ? 


Anna. His will, wherein 
He has estated me in all his land. 

EusT. He's gone to fight. 

Lion. Lessingham's second, certain. 

Anna. And I am lost, lost in 't for ever. 

Clare. O fool Lessingham, 
Thou hast mistook my injunction utterly, 
Utterly mistook it I and I am mad, stark mad 
With my own thoughts, not knowing what event 
Their going o'er will come to. 'Tis too late 
Now for my tongue to cry my heart mercy. 
Would I could be senseless till I hear 
Of their return ! I fear me both are lost. 

Ray. Who should it be Lessingham's gone to 
fight with ? 

EusT. Faith I cannot possibly conjecture. 

Anna. Miserable creature ! a maid, a wife, 
And widow in the compass of two days. 

Ray. Are you sad too ? 

Clare. I am not very well, sir. 

Ray. I must put life in you. 

Clare. Let me go, sir. 

Ray. I do love you in spite of your heart. 

Clare. Believe it, 
There was never a fitter time to express it, 
For my heart has a great deal of spite in 't. 

Ray. I will discourse to you fine fancies. 

Clare. Fine fooleries, will you not ? 

Rat. By this hand, I love you and will court you. 

Clare. Fie ! 


You can command your tongue, and I my ears 
To hear you no further. 

Ray. On my reputation, 
She's off o' th' hinges strangely. 

Enter Woodroff, Rochfield, and a Sailor, 

Wood. Daughter, good news. 

Anna. What, is my husband heard of? 

Wood. That's not the business : but you have 
here a cousin 
You may be mainly proud of, and I am sorry 
'Tis by your husband's kindred, not your own, 
That we might boast to have so brave a man 
In our alliance. 

Anna. What, so soon return d ? 
You have made but a short voyage : howsoever 
You are to me most welcome. 

RocH. Lady, thanks ; 
'Tis you have made me your own creature ; 
Of all my being, fortunes, and poor fame, 
(If I have purchas'd any, and of which 
I no way boast,) next the high providence, 
You have been the sole creatress. 

Anna. O dear cousin. 
You are grateful above merit I What occasion 
Drew you so soon from sea ? 

Wood. Such an occasion. 
As I may bless heaven for, you thank their bounty. 
And all of us be joyful. 

Anna. Tell us how. 


Wood. Nay, daughter, the discourse will best 
In his relation : where he fails, I '11 help. 

RocH. Not to molest your patience with recital 
Ot every vain and needless circumstance, 
'Twas briefly thus. Scarce having reach'd to Mar- 
gate *, 
Bound on our voyage, suddenly in view 
Appear'd to us three Spanish men of war. 
These, having spied the English cross advance, 
Salute us with a piece to have us strike: 
Ours, better spirited, and no way daunted 
At their unequal odds, though but one bottom, 
Return'd 'em fire for fire. The fight begins. 
And dreadful on the sudden ; still they proffer'd 
To board us, still we bravely beat 'em off. 

Wood. But, daughter, mark the event. 

RocH. Sea-room we got : our ship being swift of 
It help'd us much. Yet two unfortunate shot. 
One struck the captain's head off, and the other, 
With an unlucky splinter, laid the master 
Dead on the hatches : all our spirits then fail'd us. 

Wood. Not all : you shall hear further, daughter. 

RocH. For none was left to manage : nothing now 
Was talk'd of but to yield up ship and goods, 
And mediate for our peace. 

Wood. Nay, coz, proceed. 

* Margate^] The old copy " Margets." 


RocH. Excuse me, I entreat you, for what 's more 
Hath already past my memory. 

Wood, But mine it never can. Then he stood up, 
And with his oratory made us again 
To recollect our spirits, so late dejected, 

RocH. Pray, sir. 

Wood. I '11 speak 't out. By unite consent 
Then the command was his, and 't was his place 
Now to bestir him ; down he went below, 
And put the linstocks in the gunners' hands ; 
They ply their ordnance bravely : then again 
Up to the decks ; courage is there reneVd, 
Fear now not found amongst us. Within less 
Than four hours fight two of their ships were sunk. 
Both founder'd, and soon swallow' d. Not long after 
The third * begins to wallow, lies on the lee 
To stop her leaks : then boldly we come on, 
Boarded, and took her, and she 's now our prize. 

Sailor. Of this we were eye-witness. 

Wood. And many more brave boys of us, besides ; 
Myself, for one. Never was, gentlemen, 
A sea-fight better manag'd. 

RocH. Thanks to heaven 
We have sav'd our own, damag'd the enemy, 
And to our nation's glory we bring home 
Honour and profit. 

Wood. In which, cousin Rochfield, 
You, as a venturer, have a double share, 

* third.] The old copy " Ihree.'' 


Besides the name of captain, and in that 
A second benefit ; but, most of all, 
Way to more great employment. 

RocH. Thus your bounty {To Annabel. 

Hath been to me a blessing. 

Ray. Sir, we are all 
Indebted to your valour : this beginning 
May make us of small venturers to become 
Hereafter wealthy merchants. 

Wood. Daughter, and gentlemen. 
This is the man was born to make us all. 
Come, enter, enter ! we will in and feast: 
He 's in the bridegroom's absence my chief guest. 



Enter Compass, Wife, Lionel, aud Pettifog, the 
Attorney, and one Boy. 

CoMP. Three Tuns do you call this tavern ? It 
has a good neighbour of Guildhall, Master Pettifog. 
Show a room, boy. 

Boy. Welcome, gentlemen. 

CoMP. What, art thou here, Hodge ? 

Boy. I am glad you are in health, sir. 

CoMP. This was the honest crack-rope first gave 
me tidings of my wife's fruitfulness. Art bound 
prentice ? 

Boy. Yes, sir. 


CoMP. Maj'-est thou long jumble bastard* most 
artificially, to the profit of thy master and plea- 
sure of thy mistress. 

Boy. What wine drink ye, gentlemen ? 

Lion. What wine relishes your palate, good 
Master Pettifog ? 

Pett. Nay, ask the woman. 

CoMP. Elegantt for her : I know her diet. 

PfiTT. Believe me, I con her thank for 't J : I am 
of her side. 

* bastard.] The Commentators on Shakespeare's First Part of 
Henri/ IVth., aclii. sc. 4, quote various passages from old writers 
where bastard is mentioned. 

" That it was a sweetish wine, there can be no doubt : and that 
it came from some of the countries which border the Mediterra- 
nean, appears equally certain. . . . There were two sorts, 
white and brown." — Henderson's Hist of IVines, p. 290-1. 

■j- Elegant-I A pun seems intended here : Allegant ovAlligant 
(for our old poets write it both ways) is wine of Alicant ; or per- 
haps the following lines may illustrate Compass's meaning ; 
" In dreadful darkenesse Alligant lies drown'd. 
Which marryed men invoke for procreation." 

PasquiCs Palinodia, 1634, Sig. C 3. 
+ Icon her thank for' t-l Annotators and dictionary-makers 
have given various examples from Elizabethan writers of the use 
of the expression " to con thanks," which answers to the French 
sfavoir gre, " con" signifying ktiow : it occurs in our old bal- 

'' Therefore / cun the more thanke, 
Thou arte come at thy day." 

A Lytell geste of Rohyn Hode. 

(Ritson's Rubin Hood, vol. i. p 44.) 


CoMP. Marry, and reason, sir : we have enter- 
tained you for our attorney. 
Boy. a cup of neat AUegant ? 
CoMP. Yes, but do not make it speak Welch, boy. 
Boy. How mean you ? 
CoMP. Put no metheglin in 't, ye rogue. 
Boy. Not a drop, as I am true Briton. 

[TImj sit down : Pettifog pulls out papers. 

En^<?7- Franckford, Eustack, Lucy, one/ Master 
Dodge, a Imvyer, to another table ; and a Drawkr. 

Franc K, Show a private room, drawer. 

Drawer. Welcome, gentlemen. 

EusT. As far as you can from noise, boy. 

Drawer. Further this way, then, sir, for in the 
next room there are three or four fishwives taking 
up a brabbling business. 

Franck. Let 's not sit near them by any means. 

Dodge. Fill canary, sirrah. 

Franck. And what do you think of ray cause, 
Master Dodge ? 

Dodge. O, we shall carry it most indubitably. 
You have money to go through with the business, 
and ne'er fear it but we '11 trounce 'em ; you are the 
true father. 

Lucy. The mother will confess as much. 

Dodge. Yes, mistress, we have taken her affi- 
davit. Look, you, sir, here 's the answer to liis de- 


Franck, You may think strange, sir, that I am 
at charge 
To call a charge upon me ; but 'tis truth 
I made a purchase lately, and in that 
I did estate the child, 'bout which I 'm sued, 
Joint-purchaser in all the land I bought. 
Now that 's one reason that I should have care, 
Besides the tie of blood, to keep the child 
Under my v.'ing, and see it carefully 
Instructed in those fair abilities 
May make it worthy hereafter to be mine, 
And enjoy the land I have provided for 't. 

Lucy. Right: and I counsell'd you to make that 
purchase ; 
And therefore I '11 not have the child brought up 
By such a coxcomb as now sues for him. 
He'd bring him up only to be a swabber : 
He was born a merchant and a gentleman, 
And he shall live and die so. 

Dodge. "Worthy mistress, I drink to you: you 
are a good woman, and but few of so noble a pa- 

Enter Boy. 

Boy. Score a quart of AUegant to the Woodcock. 

Enter Second Boy, like a musician. 

2 Boy. Will you have any music, gentlemen ? 
CoMP. Music amongst lawyers ! here 's nothing 
but discord. What, Ralph? Here "s another of 

Y 2 


my young cuckoos I heard last April, before [ heard 
the nightingale* No music, good Ralph : here, boy ; 
your father was a tailor, and methinks by your 
leering eye you should take after him ; a good boy ; 
make a leg handsomely ; scrape yourself out of our 
company. [Exit Second Boy.} And what do j'ou 
think of my suit, sir? 

Pett. Why, look you, sir : the defendant was ar- 
rested first by Latitat in an action of trespass. 

CoMp. And a lawyer told me it should haA'e been 
an action of the case : should it not, ^^'ife ? 

Wife. I have no skill in lav.', sir : but you heard a 
lawyer say so. 

Pett. Ay, but your action of the case is in that 
point too ticklish. 

CoMP. But what do you think ? shall I overthrow 
my adversary ? 

Pett. Sans question. The child is none of yours : 
what of that ? I marry a widow is possessed of a 
ward : shall not I have the tuition of that ward ? 

* Here 's another of my young cuckoos I heard last April, 
before I heard the 7iightingale.~\ He who happened to hear the 
cuckoo sing before the nightingale was supposed not to prosper in 
his love affairs : 

" Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, 
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, 
Portend success in love ; O, if Jove's will 
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, 
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate 
Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh." 

^niton's Sonnet to the Nightingale, 


Now, sir, you lie at a stronger ward ; for partus 
sequitur ventrem, says the civil law, and if you were 
within compass of the four seas, as the common law 
goes, the child shall be yours certain. 

CoMP. There 's some comfort in that, yet. O, 
your attorneys in Guildhall have a fine time on 't ! 

Lion. You are in effect both judge and jury your- 

CoMP. And how you will laugh at your clients, 
when you sit in a tavern, and call them coxcombs, 
and whip up a cause, as a barber trims his custom.ers 
on a Christmas-eve, a snip, a wipe, and away ! 

Pett. That 's ordinary, sir: you shall have the 
like at a nisi prius. 

Enter First Client. 

O, you are welcome, sir. 

1 Client. Sir, you '11 be mindful of my suit? 

Pett. As I am religious : I '11 drink to you. 

1 Client. I thank you. By your favour, mis- 
tress. I have much business, and cannot stay ; but 
there 's money for a quart of wine. 

CoMP. By no means. 

1 Client. I have said, sir. [Exit. 

Pett. He 's my client, sir, and he must pay. 
This is my tribute : custom is not more truly paid 
in the Sound of Denmark. 


Enter Second Client. 

2 Client. Good sir, be careful of my business. 

Pett. Your declaration 's drawn, sir : I '11 drink 
to you. 

2 Client. I cannot drink this morning ; but 
there 's money for a pottle of Avine. 

Pett. O, good sir. 

2 Client. I have done, sir. Morrow, gentle- 
men. \Exit. 

CoMP. We shall drink good cheap, Master Petti- 

Pett. And we sate here long, you'd say so. I 
have sate here in this tavern but one half-hour, 
drunk but three pints of wine, and what with the 
offering of my clients in that short time, I have 
got nine shillings clear, and paid all the reckon- 

Lion. Almost a counsellor's fee. 

Pett. And a great one, as the world goes in 
Guildhall; for now our young cherks share with 
'em, to help 'em to clients. 

CoMP. I don't think but that the cuckujg-stool is 
an enemy to a number of brabbles that would else 
be determined by law. 

Pett. 'Tis so, indeed, sir. My client that came 
in now sues his neighbour for kicking his dog, and 
using the defamatory speeches, come out, cuckold's 


Lion. And what shall you recover upon this 
speech ? 

Pett. In Guildhall*, I assure you, the other that 
came in was an informer, a precious knave. 

CoMp. Will not the ballad of Floodt that was 
pressed make them leave their knavery ? 

Pktt. I'll tell you how he was served ; this in- 
former comes into TurnbuU street to a victualling- 
house J, and there falls in league with a wench. 

CoMp. A Tweak, or Bronstrops : I learned that 
name in a play§. 

* In Guildhall.^ Something seems wanting here. 

•f the ballad of Flood.] This ballad, I believe, has not come 
down to us, nor do I remember to have seen any other allusion to 
it. Several gentlemen very conversant with ballad literature had 
never heard of it till I mentioned it to them ; and the Rev. J. 
Lodge most obligingly sought for it in the Pepysian Collection, 
at Cambridge, without success. 

I into Turnhull utreet, to a victualling-house.'] TurnbuU 
street (more properly called Turnmill street) was a noted haunt 
of harlots, between Clerkenwell-Green and Cow-cross : brothels 
were often kept under pretence of their being victualling-houses 
or taverns. 

§ A Tweak, or Bronstrops : I learned that name in a play.] 
Tweak and Bronstrops weve, cant terms for a prostitute, employed 
by the Roarers of the time, as we learn from several passages of 
Middleton and Rowley's Faire Quarrell, the play to which, in all 
probability, our text alludes : but in the following passage of that 
curious drama a distinction is made between the signification of 
the two words. Tweak being used for harlot, and Bronstrops for 
Bawd ; " Now for thee, little Fucus, maist thou first serve out 
thy time as a Tweake, and then become a Bronstrops, as shee is." 
Sig. 12. ed, 1622. The first ed. of the Faire Quarrell, 1617 , 
does not contain the passage just (pioted. 


Pett. Had, belike, some private dealins^s with 
her, and there got a goose.* 

CoMP. I would he had got two : I cannot away 
wdtht an informer. 

Pett. Now, sir, this fellow, in revenge of this, 
informs against the bawd that kept the house that 
she used cans in her house : but the cunning jade 
comes me into th' court, and there deposes that she 
gave him true Winchester measure, 

CoMP. Marry, I thank her Avith all my heart for 't. 

Enter Drawer. 

Drawer. Here's a gentleman, one Justice Wood- 
rofi", inquires for Master Franckford. 

Franck. O, my brother, and the other compro- 
miser, come to take up the business. 

Enter Counsellor and Woodroff. 

Wood. We have conferr'd and labour'd for your 
Unless your stubbornness prohibit it ; 
And be assur'd, as we can determine it. 
The law will end, for we have sought the cases. 

CoMP. If the child fall to my share, I am content 
to end upon any conditions : the law shall run on 
head-long else. 

* a goose. 'I i.e. a Winchester goose ( — see Pettifog's next 
speech — ) which means a venereal swelling : the public stews were 
under the control of the Bishop of Winchester. 

f away nil h. J See note *, vol. ii. p. 112. 


Franck. Your purse must run by like a foot- 
man then. 

CoMP. My purse shall run open-mouthed at thee. 

CouN. My friend, be calm : you shall hear the 
I have stood up for you, pleaded your cause, 
But am overthrown ; yet no further yielded 
Than your own pleasure : you may go on in law 
If you refuse our censure. 

CoMP. I will yield to nothing but my child. 

CouN. 'Tis then as vain in us to seek your peace ; 
Yet take the reasons with you. This gentleman 
First speaks, a justice, to me ; and observe it, 
A child that 's base and illegitimate born, 
The father found, who (if the need require it) 
Secures the charge and damage of the parish 
But the father ? who charg'd with education 
But the father ? then, by clear consequence, 
He ought, for what he pays for, to enjoy. 
Come to the strength of reason, upon which 
The law is grounded: the earth brings forth. 
This ground or that, her crop of wheat or rye ; 
Whether shall the seedsman enjoy the sheaf, 
Or leave it to the earth that brought it forth ? 
The summer tree brings forth her natural fruit, 
Spreads her large arms ; who but the lord of it 
Shall pluck [the] apples, or command the lops ? 
Or shall they sink into the root again? 
'Tis still most clear upon the father's part. 


Cojip. All this law I deny, and will be mine own 
lawyer. Is not the earth our mother ? and shall 
not the earth have all her children again ? I 
would see that law durst keep any of us back ; 
she '11 have lawyers and all first, though they be 
none of her best children. My wife is the mother ; 
and so much for the civil law. Now I come again, 
and y' are gone at the common law. Suppose this 
is my ground : I keep a sow upon it, as it might be 
my wife ; you keep a boar, as it might be mj'^ ad- 
A^ersary here ; your boar comes foaming into my 
ground, jumbles with my sow, and wallows in her 
mire ; my sow cries week, as if she had pigs in her 
belly — who shall keep these pigs ? he the boar, or 
she the sow ? 

Wood. Past other alteration, I am changed ; 
The law is on the mother's part. 

CouN. For me, I am strong in your opinion. 
I never knew my judgment err so far ; 
I was confirm'd upon the other part, 
And now am flat against it. 

Wood. Sir, you must yield ; 
Believe it, there 's no law can relieve you. 

Franck. I found it in myself. Well, sir, 
The child's your wife's, I '11 strive no further in it ; 
And being so near unto agreement, 
Let us go quite through to 't : forgive my fault, 
And I forgive my charges, nor will I 
Take back the inheritance I made unto it. 


CoMP. Nay, there you shall find me kind too ; I 
have a pottle of claret and a capon to supper for 
you ; but no more mutton for you, not a bit. 

Ray. Yes, a shoulder, and we 11 be there too ; or 
a leg opened with venison sauce. 

Com p. No legs opened, by your leave, nor no 
such sauce. 

Wood. Well, brother and neighbour, I am glad 
you are friends. 

Omnes. All, all joy at it. 
\_Exeunt Woodroff, Franckford, Lucy, and LaxLnjers. 

CoMP. Urse, come kiss, Urse ; all friends. 

Ray *. Stay, sir, one thing I would advise you ; 
'tis counsel worth a fee, though I be no lawyer ; 
'tis physic indeed, and cures cuckoldry, to keep 
that spiteful brand out of your forehead, that it 
shall not dare to meet or look out at any window 
to you ; 'tis better than an onion to a green wound 
i' th' left hand made by fire, it takes out scar and 

CoMP. This were a rare receipt ; I '11 content 
you for your skill. 

Ray, Make here a flat divorce between your- 
Be you no husband, nor let her be no wife ; 
Within two hours you may salute again, 
Woo and wed afresh ; and then the cuckold's 

This medicine is approv'd ? 

* This speech was most probably written in blank verse. 


CoMP. Excellent, and I thank you. Ursa, I re- 
nounce thee, and I renounce myself from thee ; thou 
art a widow, Urse. I will go hang myself two hours, 
and so long thou shalt drown thyself; then will we 
meet again in the pease-field by Bishops-Hall, 
and, as the swads and the cods shall instruct us, 
we '11 talk of a new matter. 

Wife. I will be ruled : fare you well, sir. 

CoMP. Farewell, widow, remember time and 
place : change your clothes too, do ye hear, widow ? 
[Exit Wife.'] Sir, I am beholding to your good 

Ray. But you '11 not follow your own so far, I 
hope ; you said j^ou 'd hang yourself. 

CoMP. No, I have devised a better way, I will go 
drink myself dead for an hour, then when 1 awake 
again, I am a fresh new man, and so I go a wooing. 

Ray. That 's handsome, and I '11 lend thee a 

CoMP. For the long weapon let me alone then. 



Enter Lessingham and Clare. 

Clare. O, sir, are you return'd ? I do expect 
To hear strange news now. 

Less. I have none to tell you ; 
I am only to relate I have done ill 


At a woman's bidding ; that 's, I hope, no news. 
Yet wherefore do I call that ill, begets 
My absolute happiness ? You now are mine ; 
I must enjoy you solely. 

Clare. By what warrant ? 

Less. By your own condition. I have been at 
Perform'd your will, drawn my revengeful sword, 
And slain my nearest and best friend i' th' world 
I had for your sake. 

Clare. Slain your friend for my sake ? 

Less. A most sad truth. 

Clare. And your best friend ? 

Less. My chiefest. 

Clare. Then of all men you are most miserable. 
Nor have you aught further'd your suit in this, 
Though I enjoin'd you to 't, for I liad thought 
That I had been the best esteemed friend 
You had i' th' world. 

Less. Ye did not wish, I hope. 
That I should have murder'd you. 

Clare. You shall perceive more 
Of that hereafter ; but I pray, sir, teU me, — 
For I do freeze with expectation of it. 
It chills my heart M'ith horror till I know, — 
What friend's blood you have sacrific'd to your 

And to my fatal sport, this bloody riddle ? 
Who is it you have slain ? 

Less. Bonvile, the bridegroom. 


Clare. Say ? O, you have struck him dead 
thorough my heart ! 
In being true to me you have prov'd in this 
The falsest traitor. O, I am lost for ever ! 
Yet, wherefore am I lost ? rather recover'd 
From a deadly witchcraft, and upon his grave 
I will not gather rue but violets 
To bless my wedding strewings. Good sir, tell me 
Are you certain he is dead ? 

Less. Never, never 
To be recover'd. 

Clare. Why now, sir, I do love you 
With an entire heart. I could dance methinks : 
Never did wine or music stir in woman 
A sweeter touch of mirth. I will marry you. 
Instantly marry you. 

Less. This woman has strange changes. You are 
Strangely with his death. 

Clare. I '11 give the reason 
I have to be thus extasied wath joy : 
Know, sir, that you have slain my dearest friend, 
And fatalest enemy. 

Less. Most strange. 

Clare. 'Tis true. 
You have ta'en a mass of lead from off my heart 
For ever would have sunk it in despair. 
When you beheld me yesterday, I stood 
As if a merchant walking on the downs, 
Should see some goodly vessel of his own 


Sunk 'fore his face i' th' harbour, and my heart, 

Retain'd no more heat than a man that toils 

And vainly labours to put out the flames 

That burn * his house to th' bottom. I will tell 

A strange concealment, sir, and till this minute 
Never reveal'd, and I will tell it now 
Smiling, and not blushing : I did love that Bon- 
Not as I ought, but as a woman might 
That 's beyond reason. I did doat upon him 
Though he ne'er knew of 't, and beholding him 
Before my face wedded unto another. 
And all my interest in him forfeited, 
I fell into despair ; and at that instant 
You urging your suit to me, and I thinking 
That I had been your only friend i' th' world, 
I heartily did wish you would have kill'd 
That friend yourself, to have ended all my sor- 
And had prepar'd it, that umvittingly 
You should have done 't by poison. 
Less. Strange amazement. 
Clare. The effects of a strange love. 
Less. 'Tis a dream sure. 
Clare. No, 'tis real, sir, believe it. 
Less. Would it were not ! 

* i«;-«,] The old copy, " burns.'' 


Clare. What, sir! you have done bravely: 'tis 
your mistress 
Tliat tells you, you have clone so. 

Less. But my conscience 
Is of counsel 'gainst you, and pleads otherwise. 
Virtue in her past actions glories still, 
But vice throws loathed looks on former ill. 
But did you love this Bonvile ? 

Clare. Strangely, sir ; 
Almost to a degree of madness. 

Less. Trust a woman ! 
Never, henceforward. I will rather trust 
The winds which Lapland witches sell to men. 
All that they have is feign'd, their teeth, their 

Their blushes, nay, their conscience too is feign'd ; 
Let 'em paint, load themselves with cloth of tissue. 
They cannot yet hide woman ; that will appear 
And disgrace all. The necessity of my fate ! 
Certain this woman has bewitch'd me here 
For I cannot choose but love her. O how fatal 
This might have prov'd ! I would it had for me ! 
It would not grieve me though my sword had split 
His heart in sunder, I had then destroy'd 
One that may prove my rival. O, but then 
What had my horror been, my guilt of conscience ! 
I know some do ill at women's bidding 
r th' dog-days, and repent all the winter after: 
No, I account it treble happiness 


That Bon vile lives, but 'tis my chiefest glory 
That our friendship is divided. 

Clare. Noble friend, 
Why do you talk to yourself ? 

Less. Should you do so, 
You 'd talk to an ill woman : fare you well, 
For ever fare you well. I will do somewhat 
To make as fatal breach and difference 
In Bonvile's love as mine : I am fix'd in 't : 
My melancholy and the devil shall fashion 't. 
Clare. You will not leave me thus ? 
Less. Leave you for ever : 
And may my friend's blood, whom you lov'd so 

For ever lie imposthum'd in your breast. 
And i' th' end choke you I Woman's cruelty 
This black and fatal thread hath ever spun ; 
It must undo, or else it is undone. {Exit. 

Clare. I am every way lost, and no means to 
raise me 
But blest repentance. What two unvalued jewels 
Am I at once depriv'd of ! Now I suffer 
Deservedly. There 's no prosperity settled: 
Fortune plays ever with our good or ill, 
Like cross and pile*, and turns up which she will. 

* croas and pile.'] The same as Head or tail, is a game still 

practised by the vulgar, who play it by tossing up a halfpenny^ 

Our Edward the Second was partial to it. There can be no 

doubt it is derived from the Ostrachinda of the Grecian boys. See 



Enter Bonvile. 

Bon. Friend. 

Clare. O, you are the welcomest under heaven ! 
Lessingham did but fright me : yet I fear 
That you are hurt to danger. 

Bon. Not a scratch. 

Clare. Indeed you look exceeding well, me- 

Bon. I have been sea-sick lately, and we count 
That excellent physic. How does my Annabel ? 

Clare. As well, sir, as the fear of such a loss 
As your esteemed self will suffer her. 

Bon. Have you seen Lessingham since he re- 
turn 'd ? 

Clare. He departed hence but now, and left 
with me 
A report had ahnost kill'd me. 

Bon. What was that ? 

Clare. That he had kill'd you. 

Bon. So he has. 

Clare. You mock me. 

Bon. He has kill'd me for a friend, for ever si- 
AU amity between us. You may now 
Go and embrace him, for he has fulfiU'd 
The purpose of that letter. \_Gives her a letter. 

Strutt's Sports and Pastimes of the People of England, p. 296, 
ed. 1810. 


Clare. O, I know 't. 
And had you known this, which I meant to have 
sent 5'ou [SAe gives him another. 

An hour 'fore you were married to your wife, 
The riddle had been constru'd. 

Bon. Strange ! this expresses 
That you did love me. 

Clare. With a violent aflFection. 

BoN. Violent indeed ; for it seems it was your 
To have ended it in violence on your friend : 
The unfortunate Lessingham unwittingly 
Should have been the executioner. 

Clare. 'Tis true. 

Bon. And do you love me still ? 

Clare. I may easily 
Confess it, since my extremity is such 
That I must needs speak or die. 

BoN. And you would enjoy me 
Though I am married ? 

Clare. No, indeed, not I, sir : 
You are to sleep with a sweet bed-fellow 
Would knit the brow at that. 

BoN. Come, come a woman's telling truth 
Makes amends for her playing false : you would 
enjoy me ? 

Clare. If you were a bachelor or widower, 
Afore all the great ones li^^ng. 

Bon. But 'tis impossible 
To give you present satisfaction, for 



My wife is young and healtiiful, and I like 
The summer and the harvest of our love, 
Which yet I have not tasted of, so well 
That, and you '11 credit me, for me her days 
Shall ne'er be shorten'd. Let your reason, therefore, 
Turn you another way, and call to mind, 
With best observance, the accomplish'd graces 
Of that brave gentleman, whoin late you sent 
To his destruction ; a man so every way 
Deser^^ng, no one action of his 
In all his life-time e'er degraded him 
From the honour he was born to. Think how ob- 
servant . 
He '11 prove to you in nobler request that so 
Obey'd you in a bad one ; and remember 
That afore you engag'd him to an act 
Of horror, to the killing of his friend, 
He bore his steerage true in every part. 
Led by the compass of a noble heart. 

Clare. W^hy do you praise him thus ? You said 
but now 
He was utterly lost to you ; now 't appears 
You are friends, else you'd not deliver of him 
Such a worthy commendation. 

Bon. You mistake, 
Utterly mistake that I am friends with him 
In speaking this good of him. To what purpose 
Do I praise him ? only to this fatal end. 
That you might fall in love and league with him : 
And what worse office can I do i' th' world 


Unto my enemy than to endeavour 

By all means possible to marry him 

Unto a whore ? and there, I think, she stands. 

Clare. Is whore a name to be belovd ? if not, 
What reason have I ever to love that man 
Puts it upon me falsely ? You have wrought 
A strange alteration in me : were I a man, 
I would drive you with my sword into the field, 
And there put my wrong to silence. Go, y' are not 

To be a woman's friend in the least part 
That concerns honourable reputation ; 
For you are a liar. 

Bon. I will love you now 
With a noble obsen'ance, if you will continue 
This hate unto me ; gather all those graces 
From whence you have fallen yonder, where you 

have left 'em 
In Lessingham, he that must be your husband. 
And though henceforth I cease to be his friend, 
I will appear his noblest enemy. 
And work reconcilement 'tween you. 

Clare. No, you shall not. 
You shall not marry him to a strumpet : for that 

I shall ever hate you. 

Bon. And for that one deed 
I shall ever love you. Come, convert your thoughts 
To him that best deserves 'em, Lessingham. 
It 's most certain you have done him wrong, 


But your repentance and compassion now 
May make amends ; disperse this melancholy, 
And on that turn of fortune's wheel depend, 
When all calamities will mend or end. [^Exeunt. 


Enter Compass, Raymond, Eustace, Lionel, 

CoMP. Gentlemen, as you have been witness to 
our divorce, you shall now be evidence to our next 
meeting, which I look for every minute, if you please, 

Ray. We came for the same purpose, man, 

CoMP. I do think you '11 see me come oif with as 
smooth a forehead, make my wife as honest a woman 
once more as a man sometimes would desire, I mean 
of her rank, and a teeming woman as she has been. 
Nay, surely I do think to make the child as lawful 
a child too as a couple of unmarried people can 
beget, and let it be begotten when the father is 
beyond sea, as this was : do but note. 

Eust. 'Tis that we wait for. 

CoMP. You have waited the good hour. See, she 

Enter Wife. 
A little room, I beseech you, silence and observation. 


Rat. All your own, sir. 

CoMp. Good morrow, fair maid. 

Wife. Mistaken in both, sir, neither fair, nor maid. 

CoMP. No ! a married woman ? 

Wipe. That 's it I was, sir ; a poor widow now. 

CoMP. A widow ! Nay, then I must make a little 
bold Avith you : 'tis akin to mine own case ; I am a 
wifeless husband too. How long have you been a 
widow, pray ? nay, do not weep. 

Wife. I cannot chuse, to think the loss I had. 

CoMP. He was an honest man to thee it seems. 

Wife. Honest, quoth a', O ! 

CoMP. By ray feck, and those are great losses. 
An honest man is not to be found in every hole, nor 
every street : if I took a whole parish in sometimes 
I might say true, 
For stinking mackarel may be cried for new. 

Ray. Somewhat sententious. 

EusT. O, silence was an article enjoined. 

CoMP. And how long is it since you lost your 
honest husband ? 

Wife. O, the memory is too fresh, and your 
sight makes my sorrow double. 

CoMP. My sight ! why, was he like me ? 

Wife. Your left hand to your right is not more 

CoMP. Nay, then I cannot blame thee to weep. 
An honest man, I warrant him, and thou hadst a 
great loss of him ; such a proportion, so limbed, so 
coloured, so fed. 


Ray. Yes, faith, and so taught too. 

EusT. Nay, will you break the law ? 

Wife. Twins were never liker. 

CoMP. Well, 1 love him the better, whatsoever is 
become of him : and how many children did he 
leave thee at his departure ? 

Wife. Only one, sir. 

CoMP. A boy or a girl ? 

Wife. A boy, sir. 

CoMP. Just mine own case still : my wife, rest 
her soul ! left me a boy too, a chopping boy, I 

Wife. Yes, if j^ou call 'im so. 

CoMP. Ay, mine is a chopping boy : I mean to 
make either a cook or a butcher of him, for those 
are your chopping boys. And what profession was 
your husband of ? 

Wife. He went to sea, sir, and there got his 

CoMP. Mine own faculty too. And you can like 
a man of that profession well ? 

Wife. For his sweet sake whom I so dearly 
More dearly lost, I must think well of it. 

CoMP. Must you ? I do think then thou must 
venture to sea once again, if thou 'It be ruled by me. 
Wife. O, sir, but there 's one thing more burden- 
To us, than most of others' wives, which moves me 
A little to distaste it : long time we endure 


The absence of our husbands, sometimes many 

And then if any slip in woman be, 
As long vacations may make lawyers hungry, 
And tradesmen cheaper pennyworths afford 
Than otherwise they would for ready coin. 
Scandals fly out, and we poor souls [are] branded 
With wanton living and incontinency ; 
When, alas ! consider, can we do withal ?* 

CoMP. They are fools, and not sailors, that do not 
consider that : I am sure your husband was not of 
that mind, if he were like me. 

Wife. No, indeed, he would bear kind and 

CoMP. He Avas the wser. Alack, your land and 
fresh-water men never understand what wonders 
are done at sea : yet they may observe ashore that 
a hen, ha^ang tasted the cock, kill him, and she 
shall lay eggs afterwards. 

"Wife. That's very true indeed. 

CoMP. And so may women, why not ? may not a 
man get two or three children at once ? one must 
be born before another, you know. 

Wife. Even this discretion my sweet husband 
You more and more resemble him. 

CoMP. Then, if they knew what things are done 
at sea, where the winds themselves do copulate and 

• do ivitha/.] See note *, p. 215. 


bring forth issue, as thus. In the old world there 
were but four in all, as nor', east, sou', and west : 
these dwelt far from one another, yet by meeting 
they have engendered nor'-east, sou'-east, sou'- 
west, nor'-west, — then they were eight ; of them 
were begotten nor'-nor'-east, nor'-nor'-west, sou'- 
sou'-east, sou'-sou'-west, and those two sou's were 
sou'-east' and , sou'-west' daughters ; and indeed, 
there is a family now of thirty-two of 'em, that 
they have filled every comer of the world ; and yet 
for all this, you see these bawdy bellows-menders, 
when they come ashore, will be offering to take up 
women's coats in the street. 

Wife. Still my husband's discretion. 

CoMP. So I say, if your landmen did understand 
that we send winds from sea, to do our commenda- 
tions to our wives, they would not blame you as they 

Wife. We cannot help it. 

CoMP. But you shall help it. Can you love me, 
widow ? 

Wife. If I durst confess what I do think, sir, 
I know what I would say. 

CoMP. Durst confess ! Why, whom do you fear ? 
here's none but honest gentlemen, my friends : let 
them hear, and never blush for 't. 

Wife. I shall be thought too weak, to yield at 

Ray. Tush, that 's niceness : come, we heard all 
the rest : 


The first true stroke of love sinks the deepest ; 
If you love him, say so. 

CoMP. I have a boy of mine own; I tell you that 
aforehand : you shall not need to fear me that way. 

WiFB. Then I do love him. 

CoMP. So, here will be man and wife to-morrow, 
then : what, though we meet strangers, we may 
love one another ne'er the worse for that. Gen- 
tlemen, I invite you all to my wedding. 

Omnes. We '11 all attend it. 

CoMP. Did not I tell you, I would fetch it off fair ? 
Let any man lay a cuckold to my charge, if he dares, 

Ray. 'Tis slander, whoever does it. 

CoMp. Nay, it will come to petty-lassery* at 
least, and without compass of the general pardon, 
too, or I '11 bring him to a foul sheet, if he has 
ne'er a clean one : or let me hear him that will say 
I am not father to the child I begot. 

EusT. None will adventure any of those. 

CoMP. Or that my wife that shall be, is not as 
honest a woman as some other men's wives are. 

Ray. No question of that. 

CoMP. How fine and sleek my brows are now ! 

EusT. Ay, when you are married they '11 come to 
themselves again. 

• petty lassert/^ So in The Fleire, by Sharpham ; " you can- 
not be hang'd for 't, 'tis hxxi pettilassery at most." Sig. D 3. ed. 


CoMP. You may call me bridegroom if you please 
now, for the guests are bidden. 
OiiNES. Good master bridegroom ! 
CoMP. Come, widow, then : ere the next ebb and 
If I be bridegroom, thou shalt be the bride. 



Enter Rochfield and Annabel. 

RocH. Believe me, I was never more ambitious, 
Or covetous, if I may call it so. 
Of any fortune greater than this one. 
But to behold his face. 

Anna. And now's the time ; 
For from a much-fear'd danger, as I heard, 
He 's late come over. 

RocH. And not seen you yet ! 
'Tis some unkindness. 

Anna. You may think it so. 
But for my part, sir, I account it none. 
What know I but some business of import 
And weighty consequence, more near to him 
Than any formal compliment to me. 
May for a time detain him ? I presume 
No jealousy can be aspersed on him 
For which he cannot well apology. 


RocH, You are a creature every way complete, 
As good a wife as woman, for whose sake, 
As I in duty am endear'd to you, 
So shall I owe him service. 

Enter Lessingham. 
Less. The ways to love and crowns lie both 
through blood, 
For in 'em both all lets must be remov'd : 
It could be stil'd no true ambition else. 
I am grown big with project — project, said I ? 
Rather with sudden mischief, which without 
A speedy birth fills me with painful throes, 
And I am now in labour. Thanks, occasion, 
That giv'st me a fit ground to work upon ! 
It should be Rochfield, one since our departure 
It seems engrafted in this family : 
Indeed, the house's minion, since from the lord 
To the lowest groom, all with unite consent 
Speak him so largely; nor, as it appears, 
By this their private conference is he grown 
Least in the bride's opinion, a foundation 
On which I will erect a brave revenge. 

Ann. Sir, what kind offices lie* in your way 
To do for him, I shall be thankful for, 
And reckon them mine own. 

RocH. In acknowledgement, 
I kiss your hand : so with a gratitude 
Never to be forgot, I take my leave. 

* /I'e.] Old copy, " lies." 


Anna. I mine of you, with hourly expectation 
Of a long-look'd for husband. [^Exit. 

RocH. May it thrive 
According to your wishes ! 

Less. Now 's my turn. 
Without offence, sir, may I beg your name ? 

RocH. 'Tis that I never yet denied to any, 
Nor will to you, that seem a gentleman ; 
'Tis Rochfield. 

Less. Rochfield ! You are then the man, 
Whose nobleness, virtue, valour, and good parts 
Have voic'd you loud : Dover, and Sandwich, 

And all the coast is full of you. 
But more, as an eye-witness of all these, 
And with most truth, the master of this house 
Hath given them large expressions. 

RocH. Therein his love 
Exceeded much my merit. 

Less. That 's your modesty. 
Now I, as one that goodness love in all men, 
And honouring that which is but found in few. 
Desire to know you better. 

RocH. Pray, your name ? 

Less. Lessingham. 

RocH. A friend to Master Bonvile ? 

Less. In the number 
Of those which he esteems most dear to him 
He reckons me not last. 

RocH. So I have heard. 


Less. Sir, you have cause to bless the lucky 
Beneath which you were born ; 'twas a bright star 
And then shin'd clear upon you ; for as you 
Are every Avay well-parted, so I hold you 
In all designs mark'd to he fortunate. 

RocH. Pray, do not stretch your love to flattery, 
'T may call it then in question: grow, I pray you, 
To some particulars. 

Less. I have observ'd 
But late your parting with the virgin bride. 
And therein some affection. 

RocH. How ! 

Less. With pardon. 
In this I still applaud your happiness. 
And praise the blessed influence of your stars. 
For how can it be possible that she 
Unkindly left upon the bridal* day, 
And disappointed of those nuptial sweets. 
That night expected, but should take the occasion 
So fairlv offer'd ? nay, and stand excus'd, 
As well in detestation of a scorn 
Scarce in a husband heard of, as selecting 
A gentleman in all things so complete 
To do her those neglected offices 
Her youth and beauty justly challengeth ? 

RocH. Some plot to wrong the bride, and I now 
Will marry craft \vith cunning : if he '11 bite, 
I '11 give him line to play on — Were 't your case, 

* bridai.^ Tha old copy, " bride," 


You being young as I am, would you intermit 

So fair and sweet occasion ? 

Yet, misconceive me not, I do entreat you*, 

To think I can be of that easy wit, 

Or of that malice to defame a lady 

Were she so kind so to expose herself ; 

Nor is she such a creature. 

Less. On this foundation 
I can build higher still. — Sir, I believe 't. 
I hear you two call cousins : comes your kindred 
By the Woodroffs or the Bonviles ? 

RocH. From neither ; 'tis a word of courtesy 
Late inlerchang'd betwixt us ; otherwise 
We are foreign as two strangers. 

Less. Better still. 

RocH. I would not have you grow tcx) inwardt 
with me 
Upon so small a knowledge : yet to satisfy you. 
And in some kind too to delight myself, 
Those bracelets and the carcanet she wears 
She gave me once. 

Less. They were the first and special tokens 
Betwixt her and her husband. 

RocH. 'Tis confest ; 
What I have said, I have said. Sir, you have 

* The old copy by mistake gives the last five lines of this 
speech to Lessingham. 
•f- inward.^ i.e. intimate. 


Perhaps, to wrong me, or to injure her: 
This you may do, but as you are a gentleman, 
I hope you will do neither. 

Less. Trust upon 't. \_Exit Rochfield- 

If I drown, I '11 sink some along with me, 
For of all miseries I hold that chief, 
Wretched to be when none coparts our grief- 
Here 's another anvil to work on : I must now 
Make this my master-piece, for your old foxes 
Are seldom ta'en in springes. 

Enter Woodroff. 

Wood. What, my friend ! 
You are happily return'd, and yet I want 
Somewhat to make it perfect. Where 's your 

My son-in-law ? 

Less. O, sir ! 

Wood I pray, sir, resolve me ; 
For I do suffer strangely till I know 
If he be in safety. 

Less. Fare you well : 'tis not fit 
I should relate his danger. 

Wood. I must know 't. 
I have a quarrel to you already 
For enticing my son-in-law to go over : 
Tell me quickly, or I shall make it greater. 

Less. Then truth is, he 's dangerously wounded. 

Wood. But he 's not dead, I hope. 

Less. No, sir, not dead ; 

VOL. in. 2 a 


Yet sure your daughter may take liberty 
To choose another. 

Wood. Why, that gives him dead. 

Less. Upon my life, sir, no : your son 's in 
As well as I am. 

Wood. Strange ! you deliver riddles. 

Less. I told you he was wounded, and 'tis true ; 
He is wounded in his reputation. 
I told you likewise, which I am loth to repeat, 
That your fair daughter might take liberty 
To embrace another. That 's the consequence 
That makes my best friend wounded in his fame. 
This is all I can deliver. 

Wood. I must have more of 't ; 
For I do sweat already, and I 'U sweat more : 
'Tis good, they say, to cure aches, and o' th' sud- 
I am sore from head to foot. Let me taste the 

Less. Know, sir, if ever there were truth in 
Then 'tis most true your daughter plays most 

With Bonvile, and hath chose for her favourite 
The man that now pass'd by me, Rochfield, 

Wood. Say? 
I would thou had'st spoke this on Calais' sands. 
And I within my sword and poniard's length 
Of that false throat of thine 1 I pray, sir, tell me 


Of what kin or alliance do you take me 
To the gentlewoman you late mention'd ? 
Less. You are her father. 

AVooD. Why then of all men living do you 
This report to me, that ought of all men breathing 
To have been the last o' th' roll, except the hus- 
That should have heard of 't ? 

Less. For her honour, sir, and yours ; 
That your good counsel may reclaim her. 
Wood. I thank you. 

Less. She has departed, sir, upon my knowledge, 
With jewels, and with bracelets, the first pledges 
And confirmation of th' unhappy contract 
Between herself and husband. 
Wood. To whom ? 
Less. To Rochfield. 
Wood. Be not abus'd ; but now, 
Even now, I saw her wear 'em. 

Less. Very likely: 
'Tis fit, hearing her husband is return'd, 
That he* should re -deliver 'em. 
Wood. But pray, sir, tell me, 
How is it likely she could part with 'em. 
When they are lock'd about her neck and wrists, 
And the key with her husband ? 

* Ac] The old copy, " she." 


Less. O, sir, that 's but practice : 
She has got a trick to use another key 
Besides her husband's. 

Wood. Sirrah, you do lie ; 
And were I to pay down a hundred pounds 
For every lie given, as men pay twelve pence, 
And worthily, for sweaiing, I would give thee 
The lie, nay, though it were in the court of honour. 
So oft, till of the thousands T am worth, 
I had not left a hundred. For is 't likely 
So brave a gentleman as Rochfield is. 
That did so much at sea to save my life, . 
Should now on land shorten my wretched days 
In ruining my daughter ? A rank lie ! 
Have you spread this to any but myself ? 

Less. I am no intelligencer. 

Wood. AVhy then 'tis yet a secret : 
And that it may rest so, draw ! I'll take order 
You shall prate of it no further. 

Less. O, my sword 
Is enchanted, sir, and will not out o' th' scabbard. 
I will leave you, sir ; yet say not I give ground, 
For 'tis your own you stand on. 

Enter Bonvile and Clare. 

Clare here with Bonvile ! excellent, on this 
I have more to work : this goes to Annabel, 
And it may increase the whirlwind. {Exit. 

BoN. How now, sir ! 


Come, I know this choler bred in you 

For the voyage which I took at his entreaty ; 

But I must reconcile you. 

Wood. On my credit 
There 's no such matter. I will tell you, sir, 
And I will tell it in laughter, the cause of it 
Is so poor, so ridiculous, so impossible 
To be believ'd: ha, ha I he came even now 
And told me that one Rochfield, now a guest 
(And most Avorthy, sir, to be so) in my house, 
Is grown exceedingly familiar with 
My daughter. 

Bon. Ha! 

Wood. Your wife ; and that he has had favours 
from her. 

Bon. Favours ! 

Wood. Love -tokens I did call 'em in my youth ; 
Lures to which gallants spread their wings, and stoop 
In ladies' bosoms. Nay, he was so false 
To truth and all good manners, that those jewels 
You lock'd about her neck, he did protest 
She had given to Rochfield. Ha ! methinks o' th' 

You do change colour. Sir, I would not have you 
Believe this in least part : my daughter 's honest, 
And my guess * is a noble fellow ; and for this 

* guess.] A corruption oi guest, not unfrequently used by old 
writers : 

" Sir, my maisters gesse be none of my copesmates." 
A pleasant Commoclie called Luoke about you. 1600, Sig. F 3. 

" It 


Slander deliver'd me by Lessinghara, 
I would have cut his throat. 

Bon. As I your daughter's, 
If I find not the jewels 'bout her. 

Clare. Are you return'd 
With the Italian plague upon you, jealousy ? 

Woo». Suppose that Lessingham should love my 
And thereupon fashion your going over. 
As now your jealousy, the stronger way 
So to divide you, there were a fine crotchet ! 
Do you stagger still ? If you continue thus, 
I vow you are not worth a welcome home 
Neither from her nor me. See, here she comes. 

Enter Rochfield and Annabel. 

Clare. I have brought you home a jewel. 
Anna. Wear it yourself : 
For these I wear are fetters, not favours. 
Clare. I look'd for better welcome. 

" It greatly at my stomacke stickes 
That all this day we had no guesse, 
And have of nieate so many a messe." 

The Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon, 
(by Chcttle.) 1601, Sig. H 4. 

" Guesse will come in, 'tis almost supper-time." 

Yarington's Two Lamentable Tragedies, 1601, Sig. B 3. 

"The Nuptials being done, 
To which the King came willingly a Guess, 
Each one repair'd unto their business." 

Chalkhill's Tkealma and Clear chus, 1583, p. 28. 


RocH. Noble sir, 
I must woo your better knowledge. 

Bon. O, dear sir, 
My wife will bespeak it for you. 

RocH, Ha, your wife ! 

Wood. Bear with him, sir, he's strangely off o' th* 

Bon. The jewels are i' th' right place : but the 
Of her heart sticks yonder. You are angry with me 
For my going over. 

Anna. Happily more angry for your coming over. 

Bon. I sent you my will from Dover. 

Anna. Yes, sir. 

Bon. Fetch it. 

Anna. I shall, sir, but leave your self-will with 
you. [Exit. 

Wood. This is fine ; the woman will be mad too. 

BoN. Sir, I would speak with you. 

RocH. And I with you of all men living. 

BoN. I must have satisfaction from you. 

RocH. Sir, it grows upon the time of payment. 

Wood. What 's that, what 's that ? I '11 have no 

Enter Annabel, with a will. 

Anna. Look you, there 's the patent 
Of your deadly affection to me. 

Bon. 'Tis welcome. 
When I gave myself for dead, I then made over 


My land unto you : now I find your love 
Dead to me, I will alter 't. 

Anna. Use your pleasure. 
A man may make a garment for the moon. 
Rather than fit your constancy. 

Wood. How 's this ? 
Alter your will ! 

Bon. 'Tis in mine own disposing : 
Certainly I will alter 't. 

Wood. Will you so, my friend ? 
AVhy then I will alter mine too. 
J had estated thee, thou peevish fellow. 
In forty thousand pounds after my death : 
I can find another executor. 

Bon. Pray, sir, do. 
Mine I '11 alter without question. 

Wood. Dost hear me ? 
And if I change not mine within this two hours, 
May my executors cozen all my kindred 
To whom I bequeath legacies. 

Bon. I am for a lawyer, sir. l^Exii. 

Wood. And I will be with one as soon as thyself. 
Though thou rid'st post to th' devil. 

RocH. Stay, let me follow and cool him. 
Wood. O, by no means! 
You '11 put a quarrel upon him for the wrong 
H' as done my daughter. 

RocH. No, believe it, sir, 
He 's my wish'd fi-iend. 

Wood. O, come, I know the way of 't: 


Carry it like a French quarrel, privately whisper, 
Appoint to meet, and cut each other's throats 
With cringes and embraces. I protest, 
I \A'ill not suffer you exchange a word 
Without I overhear 't. 

RocH. Use your pleasure. 

{Exeunt Woodroff and Roclifield. 

Clare. You are like to make fine work now. 

Anna. Nay, you are like 
To make a finer business of 't. 

Clare. Come, come, 
I must solder you together. 

Anna. You ! why I heard 
A bird sing lately, you are the only cause 
Works the division. 

Clare. Who, as thou ever loved 'st me? 
For I long, though I am a maid, for 't — 

Anna. Lessingham. 

Clare. Why then I do protest myself first cause 
Of the wrong which he has put upon you both, 
Which, please 5'ou to walk in, I shall make good 
In a short relation. Come, I '11 be the clew 
To lead you forth this labyrinth, this toil 
Of a suppos'd and causeless jealousy. 
Cankers touch choicest fruit with their infection, 
And fevers seize those of the best complexion. 




Enter Woodroff and Rochfield. 

Wood, Sir, have I not said I love you ? if I have, 
You may believe 't before an oracle, 
For there 's no trick in 't, but the honest sense. 

RocH. Believe it, that I do, sir. 

Wood. Your love must then 
Be as plain with mine, that they may suit together. 
I say, you must not fight with my son Bonvile. 

RocH. Not fight with him, sir ? 

Wood. No, not fight with him, sir. 
I grant you may be wrong'd, and I dare swear 
So is my child ; but he is the husband, you know. 
The woman's lord, and must not always be told 
Of his faults neither : I say, you must not fight. 

RocH. I'll swear it, if you please, sir. 

Wood. And forswear, I know 't, 
Ere you lay ope the secrets of your valour, 
'Tis enough for me I saw you whisper, 
And I know what belongs to 't. 

RocH. To no such end, assure you. 

Wood. I say, you cannot fight with him, 
If you be my friend, for I must use you : 
Yonder's my foe, and you must be my second. 

Enter Lessingham. 

Prepare thee, slanderer, and get another 
Better than thyself too ; for here 's my second, 
One that will fetch him up, and firk him too. 
Get your tools : I know the way to Calais sands, 


If that be your fence- school. He '11 show you tricks, 

faith ; 
He '11 let blood your calumny : your best guard 
Will come to a peccavi, I believe. 

Less. Sir, if that be your quarrel, 
He 's a party in it, and must maintain 
The side ^vith me : from him I collected 
All those circumstances concern your daughter, 
His own tongue's confession. 

Wood. Who ? from him ? 
He will belie to do thee a pleasure then, 
If he speak any ill upon himself: 
I know he ne'er could do an injury. 

RocH. So please you, I '11 relate it, sir. 

Enter Bonvile, Annabel, and Clare. 

Wood. Before her husband then, — and here 
he is. 
In friendly posture with my daughter too : 
I like that Aveli. — Son bridegroom and lady bride, 
If you will hear a man defame himself. 
For so he must if he say any ill. 
Then Usten. 

Bon. Sir, I have heard this story. 
And meet with your opinion in his goodness : 
The repetition will be needless. 

RocH. Your father has not, sir: I '11 be brief 
In the delivery. 

Wood. Do, do, then : I long to hear it. 

RocH. The first acquaintance I had with your 


Was on the wedding-eve. 

Wood. So, 'tis not ended yet, methinks. 

RoCH. I would have robbed her. 

Wood. Ah, thief! 

RocH. That chain and bracelet which she wears 
upon her, 
She ransom'd with the full esteem in gold, 
Which was with you my venture. 

Wood. Ah, thief again ! 

RocH. For any attempt against her honour, 
I vow I had no thought on. 

Wood. An honest thief, faith, yet. 

RocH. Which she as nobly recompens'd, brought 
me home, 
And in her own discretion thought it meet 
For cover of my shame, to call me cousin. 

Wood. Call a thief cousin ! why and so she 
For the gold she gave thee, she stole from her hus- 
band ; 
'Twas aU his now : yet 'twas a good girl too. 

RocH. The rest you know, sir. 

Wood. Which was worth all the rest, 
Thy valour, lad ; but I '11 have that in print, 
Because I can no better utter it, 

RocH. Thus jade unto my wants, 
And spurr'd by my necessities, I was going. 
But by that lady's counsel 1 was stay'd, 
(For that discourse was our familiarity) : 
And this you may take for my recantation ; 
I am no more a thief. 


Wood. A blessing on thy heart ! 
And this was the first time I warrant thee too. 
RocH. Your charitable censure is not wrong'd in 

Wood. No ; I knew 't could be but the first time 
at most ; 
But for thee, brave valour, I have in store 
That thou shalt need to be a thief no more. 

[_Soft music. 
Ha ! what 's this music ? 

Bon. It chimes an lo paean to your wedding. 
Sir, if this be your bride. 

Less. Can you forgive me ? some wild distrac- 
Had overturn'd my own condition, 
And spilt the goodness you once knew in me ; 
But I have carefully recover'd it, 
And overthrown the fury on 't. 

Clare. It was my cause 
That you were so possess'd ; and all these troubles 
Have from my peevish will original : 
I do repent though you forgive me not. 

Less. You have no need for your repentance 
Which is due to it ; all 's now as at first 
It was wish'd to be. 

Wood. Why, that 's well said of all sides. 
But soft, this music has some other meaning : 
Another wedding towards ! good speed, good 


Enter Compass, and the Four Gallants [Raymond, 
Eustace, Lionel, Grover,] Bride between 
Franckford and another, Lucy, Nurse, and 

Com p. We thank you, sir. 

Wood. Stay, stay, our neighbour Compass is *t 

CoMP. That was and may be again to-morrow ; 
this day Master Bridegroom. 

Wood. O, give you joy ! but, sir, if I be not 
mistaken, you were married before now : how long 
is 't since your wife died. 

CoMP. Ever since yesterday, sir. 

Wood. Why, she 's scarce buried yet then. 

CoMp. No indeed: I mean to dig her grave 
soon ; I had no leisure yet. 

Wood. And was not your fair bride married be- 

Wife, Yes, indeed, sir. 

Wood. And how long since your husband de- 
parted ? 

Wife. Just when my husband's wife died. 

Wood. Bless us. Hymen ! are net these both the 
same parties ? 

BoN. Most certain, sir. 

Wood. What marriage call you this ? 

CoMP. This is called Shedding of horns, sir. 

Wood. How? 

Less. Like enough, but they may grow again 
next year. 


Wood. This is a new trick. 

CoMP. Yes, sir, because we did not like the old 

Wood. Brother, you are a helper in this design 

Franck. The father to give the bride, sir. 

CoMP. And I am his son, sir, and all the sons 
he has ; and this is his grandchild, and my elder 
brother : you '11 think this strange now. 

Wood. Then it seems he begat this before you. 

CoMP. Before me ! not so, sir ; I was far enough 
off when 'twas done : yet let me see him dares say, 
this is not my child and this my father. 

Bon. You cannot see him here, I think, sir. 

Wood. Twice married ! can it hold ? 

Com p. Hold ! it should hold the better a Avise 
man would think, when 'tis tied of two knots. 

Wood. Methinks it should rather unloose the 
And between 'em both make up one negative. 

EusT. No, sir, for though it hold on the con- 
Yet two affirmatives make no negative. 

Wood. Cry you mercy, sir. 

CoMP. Make what you will, this little negative 
was my wife's laying, and I affirm it to be mine 

Wood. This proves the marriage before substan- 
Having this issue. 

CoMP. 'Tis mended now, sir ; for being double 


married I may now have two children at a birth, if 
I can get 'em. D' ye think I '11 be five years about 
one as I was before ? 

EusT. The like has been done for the loss of the 
wedding ring, 
And to settle a new peace before disjointed. 

Lion. But this, indeed, sir, was especially done, 
To avoid the word of scandal, that foul word 
Which the fatal monologist cannot alter. 

Wood. Cuckoo. 

CoMP. What 's that ? the nightingale ? 

Wood. A night-bird ; much good may [it] do 
you, sir. 

CoMP. I '11 thank you when I 'm at supper. 
Come, father, child, and bride: and for your part, 
father, whatsoever he, or he, or t' other says, you 
shall be as welcome as in my t' other wife's days. 

Franck. I thank you, sir. 

Wood. Nay, take us with you, gentlemen ; 
One wedding we have yet to solemnize ; 
The first is still imperfect, such troubles 
Have droAvn'd our music ; but now, I hope, all 's 

friends ; 
Get you to bed, and there the wedding ends. 

CoMP. And so good night. My bride and I 'Uto 
bed : 
He that has horns, thus let him learn to shed. 

[Exeunt omnes. 

end of vol. III. 

London : Printed by W. Clowes, Stamford Street. 



Santa Barbara 
Goleta, California 



3 1205 03058 8600 

001 396 896 ;